WILD  ENGLAND  OF  TO-DAY 


Eagle's   Nest.      By  LANCELOT  SHEEU. 


WILD    ENGLAND 
OF    TO-DAY 

AND     THE     WILD     LIFE     IN    IT 


BY 


C.    J.  \CORNISH 

Author  of  "Life  at  the  Zoo" 


With   Illustrations 

fro?n   Drawings   by    Lancelot    Speed 
and  from    Photographs 


NEW  YORK 
MACMILLAN    &    CO. 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE 

1895 


CD 


TO 

LADY   WANTAGE 

THIS    BOOK,   DESCRIPTIVE    IN    PART    OF    THE    BERKSHIRE   DOWNS, 
IS    DEDICATED 

BY 

THE    AUTHOR 


PREFACE 

THE  wild  places  described  in  the  following  chapters 
are  so  different — ranging  from  the  Southern  Cliffs  to 
the  Yorkshire  Fen, — as  to  suggest  the  question  how 
their  wild  character  and  the  wild  life  in  them  has  been 
so  generally  preserved  ? 

Some,  such  as  the  Culver  Cliffs,  are  in  a  measure 
self-protected.  Some,  like  Abbotsbury  Swannery  or 
Blenheim  Lake,  are  choice  spots,  which  only  pass  from 
the  possession  of  one  great  proprietor  to  another,  and 
are  preserved  without  change  ;  others,  like  Christchurch 
Harbour  and  the  southern  estuaries,  have  natural  fea- 
tures so  attractive  that  rare  birds  never  forsake  them, 
in  spite  of  disturbance.  The  Down  country  round 
"The  Great  White  Horse"  was  always  thinly 
peopled,  and  the  change  from  arable  to  pasture  has 
further  reduced  its  human  inhabitants.  The  Yorkshire 
fen  is  kept  quiet  by  want  of  roads  and  deep  rivers 
uncrossed  by  bridges.  Other  places  described,  such  as 


viii  PREFACE 

the  ancient  meadows  and  Hampshire  streams,  are  not 
wild  in  the  sense  of  being  removed  from  the  homes  of 
men,  but  convenience,  or  a  sense  of  propriety,  has 
kept  them  as  they  were.  Most  of  these  conditions  are 
likely  to  last.  But  the  "  pine  and  heather  country/' 
and  that  round  the  lovely  "  Surrey  ponds,"  will  before 
long  be  in  the  hands  of  the  builder,  from  the  Bay  of 
Bournemouth  to  Ascot  Heath.  It  is  worth  while 
remembering  that  in  this  district  Wolmer  Forest  is 
still  Crown  property,  and  might,  if  the  New  Forest  Acts 
were  extended  to  it,  be  preserved  for  ever  "  open  and 
wild."  Swinley  Forest,  and  other  royal  forests  in  the 
south,  might  be  similarly  retained  as  "  reserves "  or 
natural  parks,  and  the  finest  sea-cliffs  which  have  no 
commercial  value  might  be  purchased  and  included  in 
the  protected  area. 

The  greater  number  of  the  papers  included  in  this 
book  appeared  in  their  first  form  in  The  Spectator,  to 
the  editors  of  which  paper  the  author  owes  his  best 
thanks  for  their  encouragement,  and  also  for  permission 
to  print  them  in  their  present  extended  form.  Other 
chapters  have  been  added,  and  many  of  the  original 
papers  re-written  in  greater  detail.  They  are  now 
presented  in  their  natural  order,  grouped  together  as 


PREFACE  ix 

they  deal  with  larger  or  smaller  areas  of  wild  England 
of  the  same  type.  For  much  minute  and  original 
observation  of  the  wild  life  of  the  White  Horse 
country  I  have  to  thank  my  brother,  the  Rev.  J.  G. 
Cornish  of  Lockinge,  whose  notes  on  the  wild  life  of 
the  Berkshire  downs,  and  of  other  parts  of  England, 
have  been  constantly  at  my  service.  The  greater  part 
of  the  paper  on  Abbotsbury  Swannery  is  also  written 
from  his  notes. 

C.  J.  CORNISH. 

Orford  House,  Chiswick  Mall, 
May  29,  1895. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE   SOUTHERN    CLIFFS. 

SEA-FOWL    AND    SAMPHIRE I 

THE    CLIFFS    AT    SUNRISE                 9 

SEA-FOWL   AND   THE   STORM          17 

THE   FROZEN    SHORE          25 

LAND   WON   FROM   THE   SEA. 

BRADING   HARBOUR            ...  32 

SOUTHERN    ESTUARIES. 

SALMON-NETTING  AT   CHRISTCHURCH      .. 41 

THE    LAST  OF    THE    OSPREYS          51 

POOLE    HARBOUR                  60 

THE    SWANNERY   AT    ABBOTSBURY              67 

THE   PINE   AND    HEATHER   COUNTRY. 

IN    PRAISE   OF    PINE-WOODS           ...             ...             ...             ...  76 

SELBORNE   AND   WOLMER    FOREST             83 

SURREY   SCENES. 

THE    SURREY    PONDS          ...             ...             ...             ...             ...  QO 

TROUT-BREEDING                 ...             ...             ...             ...             ...  97 


xii  CONTENTS 

SURREY   SCENES   (continued}—  PAGE 

THE  NIGHTINGALE   VALLEY  •••  IO4 

THE   HERONRY    IN    RICHMOND    PARK       ...  ...  HI 

THE   DEER    IN    RICHMOND   PARK  •••  n8 

FAWNS    IN    THE    "  FENCE-MONTHS  "  •••  124 

HAMPSHIRE   STREAMS   AND    WOODLANDS. 

WINTRY    WATERS                  ...             ...  •  •  •  *  3° 

MAY-FLIES  IN  MARCH        ...                              ...  •••  J37 

THE  WOODLANDS   IN    MAY               ...  ...  144 

THE   BUDS   AND   BLOSSOM   OF  TREES         ...  ...  150 

ROUND   THE   GREAT  WHITE   HORSE. 

THE  LOST  FALCON          ...  I56 

THE  PEEWIT'S  HOME      ...  166 

MARCH  DAYS  ON  THE  DOWNS ...  ..:  173 

"KITING"  ON  THE  DOWNS       179 

WILD  RABBIT  FARMING  ...         ...          ...          ...  ...  187 

BIRDS  IN  THE  FROST  FOG          ...          ...          ...  ...  195 

ENGLISH  ANIMALS  IN  SNOW      ...          ...          ...  ...  2O2 

RUSTIC  NATURALISTS      ...          ...          ...          ...  ...  269 

IN    THE   ISIS   VALLEY. 

THE    ISIS   IN    JUNE               ...             ...             ...             ...  ...  217 

WILD-FOWL   IN    SANCTUARY           ...             ...              ...  ...  224 

IN    HIGH    SUFFOLK. 

SUNDOWN  IN    SHOTLEY   WOOD      ...             231 

ANCIENT   MEADOWS             '.,  238 

SHOOTING    RED-LEGS    IN    THE   SNOW         ...  246 


CONTENTS  xiii 

PAGE 

SOMERSETSHIRE    COOMBS. 

A    WHIT-MONDAY   FISHING                ...             257 

THE   EAGLE    IN    ENGLAND        266 

CLIMBING    IN    ENGLAND            275 

THE   YORKSHIRE    FEN      ... 282 

DUCK-SHOOTING   IN    A   GALE          ...              ...              ...              ...  293 

IS   COUNTRY   LIFE    STILL   POSSIBLE?           300 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

EAGLE'S  NEST              ...    Frontispiece 

SEA-GULL'S  NEST         To  face  page  6 

DUCK-SHOOTING  IN  A  GALE „      „  1 8 

SWAN'S  NEST,  BRADING  HARBOUR „      „  38 

SALMON-FISHING  AT  CHRISTCHURCH           ...  „      „  46 

THE  OSPREY'S  HOME,  LOCH-AU-EILAN           ...  „       „  56 

FLIGHT  OF  SEA-BIRDS            „      „  64 

SWANS  AT  ABBOTSBURY          ...          ...          ...  „       „  70 

THE  HERONRY  IN  RICHMOND  PARK            '.'..,'  „      „  114 

DEER  IN  RICHMOND  PARK „      „  122 

THE  FROZEN  THAMES            „      „  132 

PEEWIT'S  NEST           ....  „       „  170 

GRASS-BURNING  ON  THE  DOWNS       ...          ...  „       ,,  176 

KITING  ON  THE  DOWNS        ,,      „  1 86 

KINGFISHER     ...          ...          ...          ...          ...  ,,       „  222 

TAKING  CORMORANT'S  EGGS  .  282 


WILD    ENGLAND    OF  TO-DAY 


THE   SOUTHERN    CLIFFS 

SEA-FOWL   AND   SAMPHIRE 

THERE  are  still  a  few  patches  of  the  earth's  surface 
left  in  England  to  which  no  "  Access  to  Mountains 
Bill "  or  funicular  railway  will  give  admission  ;  where 
Nature  calls  to  man  to  keep  his  distance,  and  peremp- 
torily forbids  him  even  to  set  foot.  Such,  at  least,  is 
the  warning,  as  we  read  it,  written  on  the  Southern 
Cliffs  by  the  sheep-track  that  shrinks  back  from  the 
scalloped  edging  of  the  brow,  and  the  treacherous  tide 
that  prowls  for  ever  at  their  feet,  and  piles  round  them 
the  rotten  debris  of  ocean  death  and  land's  decay.  Yet 
the  attraction  of  these  great  cliffs  to  the  imagination 
and  curiosity  is  as  strong  as  the  repulsion  which  sense 
dictates.  When  the  air  is  still,  we  may  sit  by  the  verge 
and  look  over,  while  the  white  gulls  swing  out  and 
float  beneath  ;  gazing,  as  it  were,  on  some  inverted 

world,  where  blue  sea  takes  the  place  of  blue  sky,  and 

B 


2  THE  SOUTHERN  CLIFFS 

birds  are  flying  in  the  air  below  us.  Or  we  may 
clamber  down  the  face  to  some  midway  ledge,  with  cliff 
and  sea  beneath,  and  cliff  and  sky  above,  and  sit  level 
with  the  sea-fowl  as  they  fly  and  float,  and  fancy 
ourselves  in  the  cloud-city  of  revolted  birds,  that  starved 
ungrateful  gods  by  intercepting  the  sacrifices  on  their 
way  from  earth  to  heaven.  Or,  greatly  daring,  we  may 
watch  the  temper  of  the  tide,  when  the  cliff— 

"  Sets  his  bones 

To  bask  i'  the  sun,  and  thrusts  out  knees  and  feet 
For  the  ripple  to  run  over  in  its  mirth ; 
Listening  the  while,  where  on  the  heap  of  stones 
The  white  breast  of  the  sea-lark  twitters  sweet." 

But  neither  from  its  summit  nor  its  feet,  nor  even  from 
some  jutting  midway  crag,  can  all  the  secret  places  of 
the  cliff  be  seen  ;  and  if  the  stranger  desires  to  become 
familiar  with  the  whole  surface  of  the  precipice,  and 
learn  the  ways  of  its  inhabitants,  he  must  be  content  to 
gaze  only  on  the  forbidden  land,  and  approach  it,  like 
good  Ulysses,  in  his  boat,  over  the  wine-dark  sea. 
Then,  if  he  choose  the  hour  aright,  he  may  be  in  time 
to  watch  the  sea-fowl  depart  for  their  long  day's  fishing, 
or  their  return  to  their  sleeping-places  in  the  inacces- 
sible faces  of  the  crag.  But  it  is  not  every  one  who 
cares  to  face  the  discomfort  of  rising  before  daybreak, 
and  of  a  long  and  chilly  row  along  the  shore,  while  the 
morning  wind  blows  in  cold  and  clammy  from  the  sea. 
It  is  better  to  lie  off  the  rocks  on  a  summer  evening — 

"  Between  the  sun  and  moon  along  the  shore," 
and  watch   the   darkening    cliffs,    and   the    gulls    and 


SEA-FOWL  AND  SAMPHIRE  3 

cormorants  flying  in  to  roost,  and  mark  the  ravens  and 
the  peregrine  falcon  that  still  haunt  the  crag,  to  their 
resting-places  among  the  seams  and  wrinkles  of  its  face. 
The  lofty  precipices  of  Culver  Cliffs,  in  the  south- 
east corner  of  the  Isle  of  Wight,  are  still  the  breeding- 
place  of  the  last  two  birds,  and  the  first  visit  made  by 
the  writer  to  the  spot  had  for  its  object  to  ascertain 
whether  either,  or  both,  had  recently  nested  there.  As 
long  ago  as  the  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  the  falcons 
from  these  cliffs  were  famous,  and  they  are  said  to  have 
nested  in  the  same  eyries  till  the  present  day.  The 
fishermen  off  the  Foreland  had  just  loaded  up  their 
boats  with  the  lobster-  and  prawn-pots,  five  dozen  in  a 
boat,  to  shoot  at  the  turn  of  the  tide,  and  it  was  not 
without  difficulty  that  a  black-eyed,  brown-legged 
fisher-lad  was  obtained  to  aid  in  managing  the  boat 
among  the  currents  and  rocks  which  the  falling  tide 
would  soon  disclose.  Like  most  "  longshore  "  fisher- 
men, who  look  on  the  sea-fowl  and  rabbits  in  the  cliffs 
as  part  of  their  yearly  harvest  equally  with  the  produce 
of  the  sea,  he  was  well  acquainted  with  the  habits  of 
the  birds,  and  soon  confirmed  the  existence  of  the 
ravens.  A  coastguardsman  had  caught  a  young  one 
newly  flown  from  the  nest  a  few  weeks  before,  which 
ate  so  much  that  he  had  resolved  to  sell  it  cheap  when 
he  returned  from  his  cruise  with  the  mobilized  fleet. 
After  we  had  rowed  quickly  across  the  bay  which 
separates  the  low  land  from  the  long  line  of  Culver 
Cliffs,  the  first  face  of  the  precipice  opened  out, — a 
square-topped  buttress  of  chalk,  incurved  and  over- 


4  THE  SOUTHERN  CLIFFS 

hanging,  with  waving  lines  of  flints  running  from  top 
to  bottom.  For  fifty  feet  above  the  water  the  cliff 
was  covered  with  pale,  sulphur-coloured  lichen,  and  the 
surface  was  so  smooth  and  hard  as  to  afford  no  foothold 
even  to  the  birds,  except  to  the  sand-martins,  which, 
abandoning  the  burrowing  habits  of  their  race,  had 
made  themselves  nests  of  chalk-pellets,  like  those  built 
by  house-martins  beneath  the  eaves.  The  beams  of  the 
setting  sun  streamed  over  the  top  of  the  precipice,  and 
against  the  light  the  tiny  martins  were  visible,  like 
gnats  against  the  evening  skyf  The  next  wall  of  the 
cliff  was  hardly  more  favourable  to  the  birds.  A  few 
gulls  were  sitting  on  a  knife-like  edge  of  chalk,  which 
juts  into  the  sea  at  its  extremity,  and  the  first  cor- 
morant launched  itself  heavily  into  the  air,  and  flew  out 
to  sea.  But  as  we  approached  the  third  and  least 
accessible  angle  of  the  precipice,  the  cries  and  calls  of 
the  birds  could  be  heard,  and  cormorants  and  gulls 
came  flying  round  to  see  who  were  the  disturbers  of 
their  evening  quiet.  At  the  extreme  angle  of  the  rock, 
the  sea  has  bored  two  deep  black  holes  in  the  chalk, 
and  in  one  of  these  the  body  of  the  last  of  the  Culver 
cragsmen  was  found  some  years  ago,  where  the  sea  had 
washed  it.  At  this  point  the  cliff  is,  perhaps,  more 
impressive  than  at  any  other,  rising  sheer,  white,  and 
lofty,  untenanted  by  birds,  and  unmarked  even  by  the 
creeping  samphire.  Beyond  the  "  nostrils,"  as  the  black 
holes  are  called,  the  surface  of  the  chalk  alters,  and  is 
marked  with  long,  horizontal  lines  and  ledges  of  grass 
and  samphire,  and  crowded  with  the  old  and  young 


SEA-FOWL  AND  SAMPHIRE  5 

sea-fowl,  which  have  made  it  their  home  for  centuries. 
The  long,  black,  snaky  heads  and  necks  of  the  cor- 
morants lined  the  highest  shelves,  and  sea-gulls  sat 
quietly  in  groups  and  lines,  like  white  doves  against  the 
short,  green  turf.  Lower  down,  the  beds  of  samphire 
hung  in  gentle  curves  one  below  the  other,  like  the 
"  festooned  blinds  "  now  so  common  ;  and  among  the 
wreaths  sat  the  white  and  shining  sea-fowl.  The  cor- 
morants soon  took  wing,  and  flew  croaking  in  wedges 
and  lines  out  to  sea  ;  but  the  gulls  were  tamer  and  less 
inclined  to  move,  though  the  whole  colony  raised  their 
voices  in  loud  protest  against  our  intrusion.  Amid  the  ' 
clamour  and  barking  of  the  gulls,  another  sound  was 
heard,  like  hundreds  of  kittens  mewing;  and  this,  we 
found,  came  from  the  young  gulls  on  the  lower  ledges. 
The  greyish-brown  of  the  young  birds  makes  them 
almost  invisible  against  the  grey  chalk,  which  is,  in 
this  part  of  the  cliff,  of  a  darker  colour  than  elsewhere  ; 
and  it  was  not  until  the  anxiety  of  a  pair  of  parent 
gulls  on  one  of  the  lowest  ledges  attracted  our  atten- 
tion, that  we  discerned  the  young  birds  daintily  walking 
along  the  shelf  to  a  point  of  greater  safety.  The 
ravens  had  this  year  made  their  eyrie  not  in  the  chalk 
crag,  but  in  the  red  sandstone  under  "  Red  Cliff 
Battery,"  nearer  Sandown.  The  cliff  is  there  so 
precipitous,  that  it  would  be  possible  to  drop  a  pebble 
from  the  hand  on  to  the  beach  beneath,  which  may 
account  for  the  safe  up-bringing  of  the  young  ravens. 
The  nest  no  longer  held  the  young  ;  but  one  of  the 
brood,  apparently  the  sole  survivor  now  that  the  pro- 


6  THE  SOUTHERN  CLIFFS 

tection  of  the  Red  Cliff  had  been  abandoned,  was 
sitting,  apparently  half-asleep,  on  a  ledge  of  chalk 
about  100  ft.  above  the  sea.  It  is  not  often  that  the 
chance  comes  of  watching  a  wild  raven  at  close  quar- 
ters. It  sat  quietly  in  a  sort  of  niche  in  the  chalk, 
its  head  and  beak  in  a  line  with  the  body,  until  our 
movements  caused  it  to  look  back  over  its  shoulder. 
Still  it  did  not  move.  A  gull  then  walked  round  the 
corner  of  the  cliff,  and  black  and  white  met  face  to 
face.  The  great  size  of  the  raven  was  then  shown,  as 
each  bird  sat  looking  at  the  other.  Like  most  of  the 
crow-tribe,  the  raven  seems  very  drowsy  in  the  late 
evening,  and  disinclined  to  move.  When  at  last  the 
bird  became  uneasy,  it  walked  along  a  kind  of  covered 
way  cut  in  the  chalk,  out  on  to  a  grassy  slope,  then 
poised,  and  swung  flapping  out  over  the  sea,  with 
loud,  hoarse  croaks.  There  it  was  joined  by  the  two 
old  birds,  and  all  three  went  through  those  curious 
aerial  gymnastics  which  ravens  delight  in,  tumbling  and 
taking  "headers"  in  the  air,  like  tumbler-pigeons. 
Otherwise,  the  flight  of  the  raven  is  more  like  that  of  a 
gigantic  jackdaw  than  of  a  rook  or  carrion-crow.  But 
its  voice  and  great  size  easily  distinguish  it  from  all 
other  birds. 

Where  the  broken  rocks  lay  piled  highest  at  the  foot 
of  the  crag,  we  landed  on  one  to  gather  samphire,  and 
then  turned  our  eyes  from  the  dazzle  of  the  chalk 
to  the  dark,  translucent  water  at  its  foot.  We  were 
floating  high  above  a  luxuriant  sea-garden,  full  of  a 
rich  and  tangled  growth  of  sea-ferns  and  sea-mosses, 


SEA-FOWL  AND  SAMPHIRE  7 

yet  not  so  tangled  but  that  each  plant  could  be  dis- 
tinguished from  its  fellow  when  the  eye  became  accus- 
tomed to  the  sea  change  suffered  by  the  light  in  "  the 
waves'  intenser  day.1'  Our  samphire-gatherer,  after 
ascending  to  a  point  from  which  his  form  was  hardly 
discernible  amongst  the  giant  fragments  of  rock,  cast 
a  great  armful  of  pale-green  aromatic  cliff-herbs  into 
the  boat — samphire,  and  sea-poppy,  and  wild  mignon- 
ette. Of  these,  the  samphire  is  the  strangest,  with  its 
thick,  fleshy  leaves  like  ice-plant,  its  salt  and  pungent 
scent  and  taste,  and  pale,  uncanny-looking  flower.  To 
gather  it  in  any  quantity,  it  would  be  necessary  to  scale 
the  most  dangerous  parts  of  the  cliff,  and  it  was  while 
seeking  this  and  sea-fowls'  eggs  that  the  cragsman  was 
usually  engaged,  whose  death  we  have  mentioned.  It 
was  his  practice  to  go  alone  on  his  perilous  expeditions, 
and  the  exact  manner  of  his  death  will  never  be  known. 
It  is  more  usual  for  two  or  three  rock-climbers  to  work 
together.  A  crowbar  is  planted  in  the  turf  above,  and 
two  ropes  are  used.  One  goes  round  the  body,  and 
the  other  is  held  in  the  hand  ;  the  first  is  warped  round 
the  crowbar,  so  as  to  be  let  out  at  pleasure  ;  the  second 
is  fixed  to  it  by  a  noose,  and  when  the  cragsman  wishes 
to  reascend,  he  shakes  this  second  rope  as  a  signal,  and 
the  men  on  the  top  of  the  cliff  haul  at  the  waist-rope, 
while  he  assists  by  climbing  up  the  second,  hand-over- 
hand. The  greatest  risk  is  run  when  the  climber 
throws  off  his  waist-rope,  and  clambers  along  the 
shelving  ledges  of  slippery  turf  which  seam  the  cliff, 
where  the  least  slip  is  fatal. 


8  THE  SOUTHERN  CLIFFS 

As  the  glow  of  sunset  faded  behind  the  cliffs,  and 
the  moon  rose  over  the  sea,  the  last  flocks  of  cormorants 
came  in  from  the  channel,  like  rooks  returning  to  roost. 
Then,  as  we  set  the  boat's  head  homewards,  a  peregrine 
falcon  darted  from  the  cliff,  and  with  rapid  beats  of  the 
wing  made  a  half-circle  over  the  sea,  returning  to  the 
crag  in  Jess  than  two-thirds  of  the  time  taken  by  a 
flock  of  cormorants  which  took  the  same  course.  We 
did  not  see  the  falcon's  mate,  or  the  young,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  raven.  But  they  are  said  to  have  haunted 
the  crag  during  the  spring,  and  there  is  little  doubt 
that  the  peregrine,  like  the  raven,  has  never  deserted 
the  eyrie,  which  it  has  held  for  at  least  three  centuries, 
in  the  chalk  precipices  of  Culver  Cliffs. 


THE   CLIFFS   AT   SUNRISE 

(WHITECLIFF  BAY) 

SEEN  from  the  verge  of  the  southern  cliffs,  the  rise 
of  the  summer  sun  presents  a  picture  in  curious  con- 
trast to  the  low  and  angry  dawns  of  winter  days,  with 
their  lines  of  red  and  tumbled  cloud  over  tossing 
breakers,  or  the  gradual  and  mysterious  effects  of 
sunrise  in  the  forest,  where  the  forms  and  masses  of 
trees  and  woods  are  minute  by  minute  separated  from 
the  clinging  mists  and  vapours,  as  mere  white  light 
gives  place  to  golden  beams.  The  beauty  of  the 
summer  sunrise  over  the  sea  is  of  the  calm  and  silvery 
sort.  There  is  no  mystery  of  form  to  be  disclosed  on 
the  quiet  surface  ;  the  floating  vapours  are  uniform 
and  without  visible  outline,  the  sky  as  a  rule  cloudless, 
and  merely  receptive  of  the  light.  Thus  while  in  the 
deep  harbour  valley  which  runs  inland  behind  the  cliffs, 
level  masses  of  white  mist  are  rolling  and  eddying  like 
steam  in  a  pot,  and  the  trees  around  it  appear  as  if 
fringing  the  margin  of  a  lake,  over  which  the  black 
cormorants  are  flying  high  as  if  to  avoid  the  fumes  of 
some  hidden  Avernus,  the  aspect  of  the  sea  is  like  a 


io  THE  SOUTHERN  CLIFFS 

level  bath  of  quicksilver,  veiled  with  pale-grey  exhala- 
tions, similar  in  tone,  but  without  reflected  light,  which 
appears  only  in  the  broad  and  shining  track  which  runs 
from  the  shore  across  to  the  horizon  and  the  sun. 
Only  on  the  sea-level  the  south-east  wind  and  tide 
seem  to  revolve  the  mass  of  water  in  an  immense 
dimpled  and  revolving  eddy,  which  has  for  one  margin 
the  whole  semi-circle  of  the  bay.  The  horizon,  even 
where  the  sea  whitens  under  the  sun,  is  indistinct,  and 
the  division  of  water  and  vapour  undiscoverable  by  a 
landsman's  eye.  Backed  by  the  cornfields  and  bounded 
by  the  sea,  the  narrow  line  of  clifF-face  and  beach  enjoy 
at  this  hour  a  quiet  and  repose  which  seems  for  the 
time  to  allay  the  mistrust  and  fear  of  man  of  the 
wildest  of  the  sea-fowl  and  land-birds  which  haunt  the 
cliffs  and  precipices  of  the  shore.  Just  after  sunrise,  in 
Whitecliff  Bay,  which,  with  its  adjacent  precipices  of 
the  Culver  Cliffs,  corresponds  at  the  eastern  angle  of 
the  Isle  of  Wight  to  Alum  Bay  and  Freshwater  Cliffs 
on  the  west,  the  writer  found  the  ravens  sitting  on  the 
juts  of  a  sand-cliff,  and  almost  as  tame  as  the  jackdaws, 
whom  they  had  driven  from  the  warm  ledge  on  which 
they  take  their  morning  sun-bath.  Except  for  the 
ravens  there  seemed  not  to  be  a  living  creature  in  the 
bay,  though  from  beyond  the  chalk  crag  to  the  right, 
where  the  high  cliffs  face  the  south,  the  croak  of  the 
cormorants,  and  the  screams  and  laughter  of  the  gulls, 
rose  above  the  measured  suck  and  surge  of  the  flowing 
tide  among  the  shingle.  The  sand  and  clay-cliffs  were 
full  of  small  land-birds  ;  pert,  blackheaded  stonechats 


THE    CLIFFS  AT  SUNRISE  n 

were  flitting  from  spray  to  spray  on  the  furze-banks  ; 
butcher-birds  and  wheatears  hovered  in  the  cliff ;  and, 
strange  to  say,  a  large  flock  of  sparrows  had   flown 
down  from   the    cornfields   in   which   they    had    been 
stealing  wheat  since  daybreak,  and  were  drinking  and 
washing,  with  an  immense  amount  of  loud  and  vulgar 
conversation,  where  a  stream  of  sweet  water  broke  out 
at  the  foot  of  the  cliffs,  and  trickled  down  through  the 
sand  to  the  sea.     To  descend  the  steep  path  of  yellow 
clay  it  was  necessary  to  doff  boots  and  walk  in  "  stock- 
ing   feet "  ;    for   the    boot-soles,    drenched   with   dew, 
slipped  on  the  clay  as  if  on   a  surface  of  oiled  and 
polished  metal.    The  quiet  bay  was  scored  and  furrowed 
by    the    violence  of  a  great  thunderstorm  which    had 
flooded  towns   and  fields  in  the  last  week  of  August. 
A  mass  of  water  had  collected  in  the  hollow  of  a  narrow 
valley  above,  and  poured  like  a  bursting  reservoir  over 
the  cliff,  cutting  a  channel   10  ft.  deep   and  30  ft.  wide 
through  'the   shingle  banks,  and  laying  bare  the  rocks 
and  boulders    buried    deep    below.     The    shingle    was 
cleared   away  as   if  by  hand,  and  pure  water  was  still 
running    over    the    smooth   grey  beds  of  shale  below. 
Beyond    the    channel    the    shingle    was    spread    fan- 
wise  for  a  space  of   60   yards,  abutting   on  the   sand 
beyond.      On    this  sand,   for  many    yards   above   the 
salt  margin  of  the  breakers,   the  surface  was  covered 
with   neat   round    pits,  the  size    of  a    penny.       They 
were    filled    with    water,    and    in    the   centre    of    each 
was  a  small  round  channel  sunk, — probably  the  shaft 
leading    to   the    shell-mouth    of    a    buried   razor-fish. 


12  THE  SOUTHERN  CLIFFS 

Two  or  three  isolated  rocks,  covered  with  green  and 
brown    sea- weeds — "  sea-ferns "    would    be    the    more 
appropriate  name  for  the  beautiful  submarine  fronds — 
lay  in  succession  between  high-  and  low-water  mark  ; 
and  between  these  the  sand  was  marked  in  regular  lines 
with  crab-tracks,  following,  in  the  main,  beaten  paths, 
like  rabbit-tracks  on  the  snow.     It  is  difficult  to  dis- 
tinguish how  many  lines  of  footprints  a  crab  leaves. 
It  has  eight  small  legs  and  two  large  ones,  which  last 
it  usually  carries  in  the  air,  though  when  not  frightened 
it  also  uses  them  in  walking.     Consequently  a  crab- 
track  looks  as  if  a  small  wheel,  with  a  number  of  spikes 
and  projections,  had  been  rolled  over  the  sand  from 
rock  to  rock.     Most  of  these  shallow-water  crabs  are 
"  King-crabs,"  marked   on  the  back   with  the  distinct 
outline  in  profile   of  a  royal  crown,   with  the  jewels 
studding  the  edges  of  the  arches,  exactly  as  it  appears 
in  the  water-mark  on  official  paper.     Though  useless 
for  food,  they  are  caught  in  numbers  by  the  fishermen 
as  bait  for  their  prawn-pots.     The  monster  crabs  which 
are  seen  in  rows  on  the  slabs  of  the  London  fish-shops 
never   live   near  the  shore,  but  lurk   in    the  seaweed 
jungles  among  the  submerged  rocks  out  at  sea.     The 
puzzle  is  how  they  ever  get  into  the  crab-pots,  for  in 
the  largest  of  these,  which  are  made  in  certain  fixed 
sizes  by  the  fishermen  themselves,  according  to  ancient 
and  established  tradition,  the  aperture  at  the  top  is  only 
nine  inches  wide.     Probably  the  big  crabs,  when  they 
see  any  bait  which  looks  and  smells  particularly  nice, 
creep  into  the  pots  sideways. 


THE    CLIFFS  AT  SUNRISE  13 

The  sea-fowl  colony  round  the  corner  of  the  chalk 
precipice  had  a  sentinel  gull  watching  the  bay,  to  give 
notice  of  any  stranger  approaching  the  point  beyond 
which  the  chalk  precipices  rise  to  face  the  sun.  This 
solitary  white  gull,  flying  at  a  great  height  above  the 
down,  kept  up  an  incessant  clamour,  which,  without 
causing  the  groups  which  were  basking  on  the  rocks  to 
leave  their  stations,  made  them  uneasy  and  alert.  The 
Culver  Cliff,  like  that  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  island, 
might  well  be  named  "Sun  Corner."  The  heat  and 
light  reflected  from  the  400  ft.  of  perpendicular  white 
wall  fill  the  atmosphere  with  warmth  and  brightness. 
All  the  birds  were  taking  a  quiet  sun-bath,  either  on 
the  cliff  or  on  the  flat  rocks  below.  Rock-pigeons 
were  sitting  crooning  to  each  other  on  a  jutting  ledge, 
and  a  colony  of  cormorants  were  basking  on  a  ridge  of 
turf  which  sloped  back  like  a  green  roof  from  the 
perpendicular  cliff.  Best  of  all,  a  pair  of  peregrine 
falcons  were  quietly  sitting  not  300  ft.  from  the  foot 
of  the  crag,  their  black-and-white  breasts,  and  dark- 
blue  wings  and  tails,  even  the  eye  and  head,  distinctly 
visible  with  the  glass  as  they  faced  the  sun.  They 
were  in  no  hurry  to  leave  ;  but  after  a  few  minutes 
the  pair  launched  themselves  from  the  cliff  and  flew 
with  lightning  speed  round  a  projecting  corner  of  the 
rocks  to  some  more  secluded  part  of  the  precipice.  A 
whole  family  of  ravens,  six  in  number,  were  perched  in 
a  grave  and  contemplative  line  on  another  part  of  the 
precipice.  The  two  old  birds  were  watching  a  young 
cormorant,  which  was  sitting  on  a  flat  rock  below  them, 


i4  THE  SOUTHERN  CLIFFS 

and  receiving  from  time  to  time  supplies  of  fish  from 
the  parent  birds,  which  were  diving  near  the  shore.  A 
larger  fish  than  usual  was  brought  by  the  birds,  and 
laid  upon  the  rock  at  the  feet  of  the  young  one,  which, 
having  well  breakfasted,  was  apparently  unable  to 
swallow  any  more,  and  sat  looking  at  the  fish  as  if 
contemplating  how  long  it  would  take  to  get  up 
enough  appetite  to  eat  it.  The  ravens  also  saw  the 
fish,  and  at  once  flew  down  on  to  the  rock.  Their 
method  of  robbery  was,  no  doubt,  in  accordance  with 
some  unwritten  law  of  the  cliff  colony  ;  but  unlike 
that  which  most  birds  adopt  when  they  are  dealing 
with  a  weaker,  and,  as  in  this  case,  quite  defenceless 
neighbour.  It  would  have  been  easy  to  make  a  dash 
at  the  fish,  and  fly  off  with  it  at  once.  But  for  some 
reason  they  did  not  choose  to  do  so.  The  ravens,  after 
a  short  croaking  conversation,  sidled  up  on  one  side  of 
the  cormorant,  until  all  three  birds  were  in  a  line,  their 
shoulders  touching.  The  ravens  then  proceeded  to 
edge  down  upon  the  cormorant,  gradually  shoving  it 
away  from  the  fish,  and  towards  the  edge  of  the  rock, 
all  in  a  very  gentle,  friendly  manner,  with  no  appear- 
ance of  force.  The  cormorant  then  shuffled  in  front 
of  its  fish,  and  turning  round,  set  its  sloping  back 
towards  the  ravens,  who  found  that  as  they  pushed  the 
bird,  they  only  upset  it  on  to  the  coveted  morsel,  on 
which  it  lay  sprawling.  As  this  did  not  answer,  the 
ravens  separated,  and  sat  one  on  each  side  of  the 
cormorant ;  one  then  gave  it  a  push,  while  the  other 
neatly  picked  up  the  fish,  and  both  flew  off  with  it  to 


THE    CLIFFS  AT  SUNRISE  15 

their  own  full-grown  brood  on  the  cliff.  The  probable 
explanation  of  this  complicated  manoeuvre  is  that  the 
ravens  were  quite  aware  that  if  frightened  the  cormorant 
would  pick  up  the  fish  and  dive  with  it  out  of  their 
reach.  Hence  they  adopted  the  trick  constantly 
practised  by  watch-snatchers  in  town,  in  which  one 
hustles  the  victim,  while  the  other  seizes  his  property. 
On  the  opposite  corner  of  the  island,  by  the  Fresh- 
water precipices,  the  rock-fowl  are  more  numerous  and 
of  more  kinds  than  those  which  haunt  the  Culver  Cliffs. 
Only,  if  the  visitor  would  see  them  all  he  must  keep 
early  hours,  and  be  in  his  boat  under  the  cliffs  before 
daybreak.  Long  before  sunrise,  the  gulls  are  awake, 
and  uttering  a  hundred  quaint  calls  and  cries,  laughing 
like  children,  mewing  like  kittens,  whistling  and 
whispering,  screaming  and  crying,  though  no  human 
footstep  has  trodden  on  the  sand  since  last  night's  tide 
smoothed  and  pressed  it,  and  bordered  the  damp  edge 
of  the  sea-garden  with  curving  wreaths  of  weed. 

There  are  few  better  places  for  watching  the  sea-fowl 
than  the  cliffs  of  Freshwater.  Not  where  the  chalk 
presents  its  strongest  face  to  the  sea  ;  for  there  the 
sheer  crag  denies  a  foothold  not  only  to  the  birds,  but 
even  to  the  creeping  samphire.  But  when  the  sun 
rises  from  the  sea  and  flushes  the  more  broken  parts 
of  the  cliff,  they  may  be  seen  in  hundreds  ;  rows  of 
puffins  in  neat  white  waistcoats  and  black  coats,  like 
well-drilled  City  waiters  ;  black  solemn  cormorants  ; 
guillemots  and  razor-bills  ;  and  long-winged,  graceful 
gulls.  As  the  red  disc  leaves  the  water,  the  gulls 


X6  THE  SOUTHERN  CLIFFS 

stream  out  over  the  sea,  barking  and  whining  like 
packs  of  hounds,  to  see  if  the  herring-shoals  have  come 
in  during  the  night ;  and  the  cormorants — "  Isle  of 
Wight  parsons,"  as  the  sailors  call  them — launch  them- 
selves heavily  from  the  lower  rocks,  and  fly  low  along 
the  shore  in  >  shaped  wedges.  Only  the  puffins  stay 
to  gossip  and  wag  their  heads,  and  talk  about  the 
young  rabbits  they  stole  yesterday,  and  the  agreeable 
change  which  they  make  in  a  fish  diet.  Presently,  if 
no  herring-shoals  are  in  sight,  the  gulls  come  sailing 
back  ;  the  young  ones  first  in  their  dusky  feathers,  and 
their  grey-and-white  parents  later,  some  to  line  the 
rocks,  while  others  settle  on  the  water,  and  float  like  a 
fleet  of  yachts  at  anchor,  and  watch  their  visitor.  If 
he  be  still  and  quiet,  they  will  even  alight  near  him  on 
the  sand,  and  trip  daintily  along  where  the  waves 
break,  stopping  every  now  and  then  to  examine  the 
rolls  of  seaweed  for  dead  crabs  and  fish.  But  these 
serve  only  to  "  deceive  the  stomach,"  as  Mr.  Stanley's 
phrase  is.  A  gull's  appetite  needs  more  liberal  diet, 
and  the  whole  flock  rise  joyfully  as  an  old  white 
herring-gull  flies  in  from  the  sea  and  screams  to  the 
hungry  crowd.  "  Herrings  !  "  he  shouts,  as  plainly  as 
may  be.  "Herrings!  Hurrah!"  the  pack  answer; 
and  the  air  is  full  of  white  wings  hurrying  off  to  the 
distant  shoal. 


SEA-FOWL  AND  THE   STORM 

(BEMBRIDGE    LEDGE) 

THE  great  frost  with  which  the  year  1895  °pene(i 
was  preceded,  about  the  beginning  of  January,  by 
cyclonic  gales  of  quite  unusual  violence.  One  of  these 
sprang  up  so  suddenly  on  the  night  of  January  10,  that 
the  seaports  received  only  three  hours'  warning,  and 
the  sea-fowl,  who  are  often  reputed  the  best  weather- 
prophets,  were  caught  by  the  storm  with  no  warning 
at  all.  The  wind  struck  the  southern  coast  at  mid- 
night, and  blew  for  forty-eight  hours  with  a  steady 
roar  like  the  sound  of  machinery  in  a  mill.  As  the 
day  broke  over  the  sea,  where  the  long  reef  of  Bern- 
bridge  Ledge  juts  out  at  the  north-east  corner  of  the 
Isle  of  Wight,  the  whole  stretch  of  waters  seemed  in 
motion  towards  the  shore ;  the  gale  had  mastered 
current  and  tide,  and  subdued  all  the  minor  conflict 
and  welter  of  the  narrow  sea.  As  far  as  the  sight 
could  carry,  the  whole  surface  of  the  Channel  was 
piled  up  in  parallel  lines  of  white-topped  waves, 
hurrying  fast  and  close,  line  after  line,  and  breaking 
with  a  front  of  miles  upon  the  shingle  line.  The 


jg  THE  SOUTHERN  CLIFFS 

swiftness  and  uniformity  of  the  onset  of  the  sea  on 
a  dead  lee-shore  in  such  a  gale  detracts  something  from 
the  grandeur  of  the  sight.  But  the  coasting  brigs  and 
schooners  forced  ashore,  seem  almost  to  melt  before 
the  waves,  and  even  the  true  sea-fowl,  whose  home  is 
on  the  great  waters,  are  starved  and  drowned,  or  driven 
inland  until  the  tempest  lulls. 

For  some  days  before  the  gale,  while  the  frost  lasted, 
the  number  of  home-bred  wild-ducks,  as  well  as  the 
true  sea-ducks  which  winter  in  the  Channel,  had  been 
increased  by  arrivals  from  the  North.  During  the  day 
these  were  seen  swimming  in  little  bands  and  companies 
beneath  the  tall  precipices  which  broke  the  force  of 
the  north  wind,  or  resting  and  sleeping  just  beyond  the 
breakers.  The  sea-ducks  and  cormorants,  which  feed 
by  day,  were  diving  and  fishing  while  the  others  slept, 
sometimes  rising  to  the  surface  in  the  middle  of  the 
resting  flocks,  or  taking  long  low  flights  from  one 
feeding-ground  to  another.  At  dusk  the  sea  was 
deserted  by  the  birds,  the  cormorants  flying  heavily 
into  roost  in  the  chalk  precipices,  while  the  ducks, 
awake  and  hungry,  took  their  nightly  flight  inland, 
rushing  high  in  dusky  lines  over  the  heads  of  the 
fishermen  lurking  along  the  clifF  with  their  long  duck- 
guns,  whose  flash  and  roar  were  the  nightly  signal  of 
the  moving  of  the  fowl.  Those  that  stayed  after  dawn 
in  the  preserved  inland  waters  had  for  some  days  paid 
a  heavy  toll  to  the  gun.  But  so  far,  though  the  land- 
birds  were  pinched,  and  crowding  to  the  houses  and 
farm-buildings,  the  greater  number  of  the  sea-fowl  had 


SEA-FOWL  AND    THE  STORM  19 

suffered  in  no  way  from  the  wintry  weather,  and  the 
ravens,  which,  according  to  tradition,  always  chooSe  the 
site  for  their  nest  on  New  Year's  Day,  were  playing 
and  croaking  in  solemn  gambols  in  the  air,  and  evidently 
enjoying  the  annual  renewal  of  their  courtship,  which 
is  the  pleasant  custom  of  birds  which  pair  for  life.  A 
few  hours  of  storm  broke  up  this  sociable  company. 
Even  before  dawn,  the  screams  and  calls  of  gulls  flying 
round  the  houses  and  buildings  had  given  warning  that 
something  had  happened  to  disturb  the  usual  order  of 
life  upon  the  shore  ;  and  as  the  darkness  gave  place 
to  uncertain  light,  their  white  forms  were  visible  dimly 
drifting  and  circling  among  the  trees,  or  soaring  almost 
motionless  against  the  steady  current  of  the  gale. 
These  gulls  were  all  of  the  smaller  and  weaker  kinds, 
— mostly  black-headed  gulls,  in  wniter  plumage  ;  the 
larger  sorts  had  not  yet  succumbed  to  the  force  of  the 
gale,  but  were  flying  high  and  steadily  in  noisy  packs 
along  the  line  of  shore.  On  the  edge  of  the  cliffs, 
the  sustained  strength  and  violence  of  the  wind  was 
hardly  less  evident  to  the  human  spectator  standing  on 
the  verge,  than  to  the  fowl  which  were  struggling  to 
maintain  their  usual  place  in  the  air  between  the 
summit  and  the  sea.  The  gale  still  maintained  its 
steady  mechanical  pressure,  without  gust  or  flaw,  and 
the  larger  gulls  were  giving  an  exhibition  of  their 
powers  of  flight.  A  pair  of  the  great  black-backed 
gulls  were  the  only  fowl  which  still  seemed  able  to 
disregard  in  a  measure  the  force  of  the  wind.  They 
still  maintained  a  place  well  out  at  sea,  flying  low 


2O 


THE  SOUTHERN  CLIFFS 


with  powerful  beats  of  the  wing,  half-hidden  by 
smoking  mist,  where  the  gale  cut  the  crests  of  the 
waves  and  drove  them  on  in  clouds  of  greyish  spray. 
Their  course  was  at  right-angles  to  the  direction  of 
the  gale,  and  when  its  steady  impulse  drifted  them 
shorewards,  the  big  birds  set  their  faces  to  the  blast, 
and  worked  their  way  out  to  sea  by  sheer  force  of 
wing  and  muscle.  The  herring-gulls  had  abandoned 
the  effort  to  keep  the  sea,  but  had  not  yet  been  driven 
from  the  shore.  Unlike  the  black-headed  gulls,  whose 
habit  is  to  nest  inland,  and  who  readily  leave  the 
coast  for  the  fields  whenever  the  supply  of  food  is 
likely  to  be  more  abundant  on  the  ploughlands  than 
on  the  coast,  the  herring-gulls  are  true  sea-fowl, 
nesting  on  the  cliffs,  and  getting  their  living  by  fishing 
or  picking  up  the  sea-refuse  on  the  beach  ;  if  driven 
inland,  they  are  more  often  than  not  lost  and  bewil- 
dered, and  being  well  aware  of  the  danger  they  run 
if  once  they  lose  sight  of  the  sea,  their  fight  against 
the  gale  is  strengthened  by  something  more  than  the 
common  reluctance  of  birds  to  leave  their  own  familiar 
haunt.  Unable  to  cruise  over  the  water  like  the  great 
black-backed  gulls,  and  unwilling  to  drift  inland,  they 
held  their  place  and  maintained  it  throughout  the 
day  by  the  use  of  the  power  of  soaring,  or  floating 
like  kites  against  the  wind.  With  wings  extended  and 
motionless,  they  floated  edgeways  to  the  gale,  which 
gradually  lifted  them  higher,  and  drove  them  towards 
the  land.  When  carried  backwards  to  a  point  above 
the  edge  of  the  cliff,  they  allowed  themselves  to  fall 


SEA-FOWL  AND    THE  STORM  21 

downwards,  and  then,  once  more  spreading  their 
wings,  soared  up  forwards  and  seawards  with  the 
impulse  gained  by  their  descent.  All  day  long  this 
manoeuvre  was  repeated  ;  and  when  night  fell,  they 
still  held  their  places  midway  between  cliff  and  sea. 
The  wild  ducks  and  cormorants,  which  have  no  such 
powers  of  sustained  poise  in  flight,  though  the  former 
excel  in  what  M.  Marey  has  distinguished  as  the 
vol  rame-,  or  use  of  the  beating  wing,  were  in  far 
different  case.  The  inconvenience  of  this  limited 
knowledge  of  the  possible  uses  of  the  wing  in  creatures 
so  intelligent  as  wild-ducks,  was  very  obvious,  and 
suggested  the  question  why  it  is  that  though  they 
have  apparently  discovered  for  themselves  the  exact 
distance  and  order  of  arrangement  in  which  birds  make 
best  progress  when  flying  in  company — for  wild-ducks 
not  only  adopt  the  wedge-shaped  formation  when 
flying  together,  but  also  preserve  the  distances  between 
the  files  with  the  regularity  of  drilled  soldiers — they 
have  never  acquired  the  art  of  "  sailing "  against  the 
wind  like  sea-gulls,  or  even  herons  and  pelicans. 

Exhausted  with  the  constant  tossing  out  at  sea,  the 
ducks  crowded  to  the  edge  of  a  long  reef  or  ledge  of 
rocks,  and  for  a  time  rode  uneasily  just  outside  the 
breakers.  But  the  rush  of  the  tide  soon  drowned  the 
rocks,  and  turned  the  ledge  into  a  white  and  tumbling 
lake  of  foam.  Then  the  ducks  shifted  once  more  out 
to  sea,  rising  uneasily,  and  flying  from  place  to  place, 
like  flocks  of  starlings.  A  pair  or  two  of  brent  geese, 
looking  as  black  and  heavy  as  cormorants  against  the 


22  THE  SOUTHERN  CLIFFS 

toppling  waves,  seemed  determined  to  ride  out  the  gale. 
But  the  constant  rushing  seas,  which  wrenched  from 
their  moorings  and  flung  on  shore  even  the  fishing- 
boats  anchored  within  the  reef  of  rocks,  soon  wore  out 
the  strength  of  the  ducks.  Company  after  company 
rose  and  skimmed  swiftly  up  and  down,  seeking  some 
smoother  and  more  sheltered  spot,  and  finding  none, 
turned  their  backs  to  the  wind,  and  rising  high  and 
fast,  abandoned  the  effort  to  keep  the  sea,  and  flew 
with  extraordinary  speed  high  over  the  cliffs.  In  half- 
an-hour  after  the  rising  of  the  first  flock,  every  duck 
had  left  the  salt-water,  and  flown  in  to  face  the  dangers 
of  the  sheltered  waters  inland.  The  storm  had  beaten 
them. 

As  night  fell  the  snow  came.  Carried  on  the  gale, 
it  rushed  on  in  level  lines,  as  if  blown  from  a  gun. 
The  shore  was  silent  and  deserted.  The  nightly  flight 
of  fowl  from  the  sea  inland  was  suspended,  and  the 
only  bird  by  the  cliffs  was  a  solitary  owl,  flitting  in  the 
dusk  along  the  shore.  Next  morning  the  gale  fell, 
and  as  the  tide  ebbed,  we  saw  upon  the  beach  some 
natural  records  of  the  forces  before  which  the  sea-fowl 
had  retired.  All  the  ridges  of  shingle  had  been  cut 
away,  and  the  beach  relaid  in  an  even  and  regular  slope 
from  the  cliffs  to  the  edge  of  the  surge,  brown  and 
smooth,  like  bolted  bran.  The  waves  were  thick  with 
sea-weed  torn  fresh  from  the  deeply  submerged  rocks. 
It  lay  in  long  wavy  lines,  wet  and  glistening,  like  the 
patterns  on  watered  silk  ;  brown  oar-weed,  with  roots 
all  crusted  with  pink  sea-wet ;  green  feathery  sea-moss, 


SEA-FOWL  AND    THE   STORM  23 

and  bright  orange  star-weed,  and  thin  ribbons  of  a 
delicate  sea-plant,  so  pale  that  it  seemed  to  have  grown 
in  dark  sea-caves,  beyond  the  reach  of  sunlight.  Mixed 
with  the  weed  were  bunches  of  orange  eggs  of  sea^ 
creatures,  while  jointed  roots  of  mares'-tail  washed  from 
the  clay  cliff,  and  one  or  two  big  spiny-backed  "  sea- 
mice,"  as  a  fisherman  called  the  big  sea-slugs  which  are 
now  and  again  washed  up  by  the  storms. 

Beyond  the  bay,  round  the  point,  and  under  the 
chalk  precipices,  the  storm  had  cleared  away  the  deep 
beds  of  rotting  sea-weed  which  usually  lie  there,  and 
scoured  and  cleaned  every  rock  by  the  batter  of  the 
large  chalk  boulders  which  are  here  rattled  in  the 
surge. 

The  evening  after  the  gale  we  lay  till  dark  beneath 
the  crag,  and  watched  the  demeanour  of  the  birds  after 
the  lull  of  the  storm.  Apparently  they  spent  the 
whole  day  in  fishing,  in  order  to  make  up  for  their 
fast  during  the  storm.  Not  a  single  cormorant  and 
very  few  gulls  were  visible  until  it  was  dusk,  though 
the  peregrine  falcons  were  flitting  from  point  to  point 
on  the  cliff  face,  and  clinging  to  projecting  lumps  of 
chalk.  When  the  cormorants  did  come  in  they  flew  in 
very  low  and  heavily,  like  enormous  bats  coming  out 
of  the  gloom  in  which  the  sky  was  only  distinguished 
by  a  line  of  dull  red  glow  from  the  dark  uneasy  sea. 
One  of  our  party,  who  had  done  great  things  among 
the  ducks  in  the  harbour  the  evening  before,  was 
anxious  to  shoot  a  cormorant  and  make  "  scart  soup," 
which  is  declared  by  some  who  have  tried  it  to  be  as 


24  THE  SOUTHERN  CLIFFS 

good  as  hare  soup.  But  though  the  birds  seemed 
within  shot  they  failed  to  be  bagged,  and  it  is  probable 
that  their  great  size  is  often  not  taken  into  account  by 
those  who  think  them  well  within  range.  The  flash 
of  the  guns  and  the  eddying  flight  of  the  cormorants 
as  they  came  swinging  round  the  cliffs  in  the  semi- 
darkness,  with  the  screams  of  the  gulls,  made  a  wild 
and  picturesque  "  good-night "  to  the  big  precipice,  as 
the  tide  crept  on  to  its  foot  with  fast  lessening  waves. 


25 


THE   FROZEN   SHORE 

(FRESHWATER  CLIFFS) 

IN  the  winter  storms  the  sea-fowl  ascend  the  rivers 
inland,  and  the  land-birds  seek  the  coast.  In  this,  each 
kind  acts  according  to  knowledge  :  the  sea-fowl,  because 
they  are  truly  birds  of  the  sea,  seeking  their  home  on 
the  deep  and  their  living  on  the  great  waters,  which  are 
then  too  troubled  and  tempestuous  to  yield  either  food 
or  shelter  ;  and  the  land-birds  because  they  know  that 
along  the  tide-way  the  salt-water  kills  the  frost. 
Twice  daily  the  mellow  tide  advances  to  undo  the  work 
of  the  encroaching  frost,  which  has  followed  the  ebb 
over  shingle,  sand,  and  rocks.  Rivers  are  not  the  sole 
avenues  by  which  the  sweet  waters  reach  the  sea. 
Thousands  of  little  land-springs,  invisible  in  the 
summer  droughts,  trickle  from  the  cliffs,  oozing  and 
dripping  on  to  the  fringe  of  boulders  and  large  shingle 
which  lies  furthest  from  the  sea,  and  meander  down  in 
channels  cut  between  the  sands  till  lost  in  the  pools  left 
by  the  ebb.  Icicles  soon  form  on  the  bents  and 
brambles  which  overhang  the  channels  where  the  rills 
leave  the  base  of  the  cliff,  and  a  film  of  white  and 


26  THE  SOUTHERN  CLIFFS 

rotten  ice  covers  the  sweet  waters  hour  by  hour  as  they 
trickle  through  the  drying  sand.  In  all  other  respects 
the  shore  remains  unchanged,  except  for  the  greater 
symmetry  and  order  worked  by  winter  storms.  The 
waves  are  the  rakes  and  sieves  and  rollers  which  the 
sea  sets  to  work  to  arrange  the  gravel-walks  and  borders 
of  the  great  public  garden  which  surrounds  the  island. 
They  work,  as  Frank  Buckland  showed,  on  a  uniform 
plan,  and  the  storm,  far  from  leaving  confusion  and 
disorder  on  the  fringe  of  ocean,  is  merely  an  effort  of 
Nature  to  work  "  overtime  "  and  get  things  straight  in 
a  hurry.  Doubtless  many  of  the  more  fragile  ornaments 
are  broken  in  the  process  ;  but  the  order  of  the  strand 
is  never  so  perfect  as  when  seen  in  the  bright,  calm 
weather  which  follows  a  December  gale.  The  onward 
rush  of  the  breakers  carries  the  shingle  with  it  in  what 
would  seem  the  reverse  of  the  natural  process.  The 
largest  and  heaviest  boulders,  and  the  light  and  floating 
sea-weed  are  carried  furthest,  to  the  very  base  of  the 
cliff,  and  are  there  sorted  and  piled,  the  boulders  below, 
and  the  sea-weed  above  them  in  large  level  banks  which 
steam  and  swelter  in  the  winter  sun.  Next  to  this,  in 
long  escalloped  bays,  lies  the  pebble-bank.  This, 
again,  is  lined  by  the  shingle-layers,  which  are  fringed 
in  turn  by  the  finest  debris  of  the  storm,  the  siftings 
and  dust  of  the  sea-wash,  a  yard  of  which  will  give 
delight  for  hours  to  the  eye,  and  days  of  discovery  with 
the  microscope.  Beyond  this  lies  the  finest  layer  of  all 
— the  irreducible  and  innumerable  sands.  The  sea- 
siftings  are  the  strangest  medley  in  little  of  the  com- 


THE  FROZEN  SHORE  27 

ponents  of  the  ocean  fringe.  In  them  are  scraps  and 
fronds  of  sea- weed  and  oar- weed,  some  ground  to  powder 
like  coffee,  others  minute  but  undefaced  fragments  of 
the  plant ;  with  these  pounded  morsels  of  what  once 
were  planks  of  ships,  green  scales  from  copper  sheathing, 
tiny  beads  of  broken  glass,  dust  of  quartz  and  cornelian, 
globules  of  chalk  and  coal-dust,  green  threads  of  sea- 
grass  and  fibres  of  matting,  myriads  of  tiny  and  most 
exquisite  shells  no  larger  than  a  pin's  head,  fragments 
of  nacre  from  the  larger  shells,  and  white  bruised  limbs 
and  skeletons  of  infant  crabs  done  to  death  in  the  surge. 
The  destruction  of  life  among  these  small  Crustacea 
must  be  enormous.  Yet  few  land-birds  come  to  feed 
upon  their  bodies,  except  the  carrion-crows  and  the 
rock-pipets,  which  are  almost  as  native  to  the  shore  as 
the  sandpipers  and  dunlins  themselves.  Beyond  the 
sea-line,  winter  makes  no  disturbance  in  vegetable  or 
animal  life.  The  long  sea-grass  floats  as  green  and 
luxuriant  as  ever  in  the  shallow  pools  inside  the  rock- 
ledges,  and  the  only  sign  that  winter  reigns  is  the  flocks 
of  brent-geese,  which  are  pulling  the  grass  and  rolling 
it  into  neat  packets  before  swallowing  it,  on  the  edge 
furthest  from  the  shore.  This  grass  seems  to  be  the 
sole  winter  food  of  the  brent,  as  it  was  of  the  swans  at 
Abbotsbury,  until,  in  1881,  the  lifting  of  the  ice  in 
which  it  was  embedded  in  the  fresh-water  of  the 
"  Fleet  "  carried  the  whole  crop  out  to  sea,  and  left  the 
birds  either  to  die  of  starvation  or  to  take  unwillingly 
to  a  new  diet  of  grain.  The  geese  and  the  wild-ducks 
from  the  north  crowd  the  estuaries  and  harbours  during 


28  THE  SOUTHERN  CLIFFS 

the  winter  months,  but  the  cliffs  are  silent  and  deserted, 
except  by  the  cormorants  and  roosting  sea-gulls.  The 
puffins,  the  most  numerous  and  amusing  of  the  cliff 
tribes,  have  flown  away  to  the  Mediterranean,  and  the 
dizzy  ledges  of  the  cliffs  on  which  the  "  sea-parrots  " 
screamed  and  jostled  and  brought  up  their  families 
during  the  spring  are  silent  and  deserted.  On  the  last 
day  but  one  of  the  old  year  there  was  not  a  sea-bird  on 
the  line  of  chalk  precipices  which  runs  out  from  Fresh- 
water Gate  to  Sun  Corner,  near  the  Needles.  The 
gulls  were  all  away  at  the  sprat  and  herring  fishery,  and 
the  guillemots  and  razor-bills  were  out  at  sea,  and 
would  not  return  before  night.  Yet  the  day  was  one 
to  tempt  the  fowl  to  leave  the  water  and  bask  on  the 
warm  face  of  these  southern  cliffs.  The  summit  of  the 
down  rose  600  feet  above  the  water,  clear  of  all 
clouds  and  frost-fog,  into  the  light  of  the  winter  sun, 
which  was  shining  in  a  broad  lane  of  silver  across  the 
grey  sea,  and  covered  the  face  of  the  long  line  of 
bastions  of  chalk  with  a  steamy  haze.  Flocks  of  star- 
lings were  feeding  on  the  fine  turf  which  clothes  the 
down,  and  a  brace  of  partridges  rose  from  the  verge  of 
the  cliff  beyond  the  beacon.  A  pair  of  ravens  were  the 
only  tenants  of  the  awful  precipice,  which  falls  sheer 
down  to  the  sea  at  this  point.  They  soared  level  with 
the  summit,  one  bird  just  above  the  other,  in  flight  so 
evenly  matched  and  uniform,  that  their  movements 
seemed  guided  by  a  single  will.  Sometimes  the  bird 
above  would  even  touch  its  mate,  and  the  pair  fall 
toppling  down  a  hundred  feet  croaking  loudly.  After 


THE  FROZEN  SHORE  29 

playing  and  soaring  for  half-an-hour,  they  flew  out 
over  Alum  Bay  and  round  by  the  Needles,  perhaps  to 
seek  a  site  for  a  nest,  which  the  ravens  are  said  always 
to  choose  on  New  Year's  Day.  Beyond  the  beacon  lies 
the  still  more  awful  precipice  of  Sun  Corner.  The 
cliff  there  is  not  perpendicular,  but  overhanging,  and 
the  voice  of  the  gently  heaving  sea  climbs  so  slowly  to 
the  summit,  that  it  seems  as  if  the  sound  of  the  breaker 
that  the  eye  can  see  would  be  wholly  lost  on  its  way  to 
reach  the  ear.  On  the  highest  point  is  an  upright 
pinnacle  of  chalk,  connected  with  the  main  line  of  the 
cliff  by  a  narrow  ridge,  on  which  a  man  might  sit 
astride.  On  the  summit  of  the  pinnacle,  a  peregrine 
falcon  was  quietly  basking,  looking  inland,  with  its 
back  to  the  sea  and  the  sun.  The  bird  was  so  tame, 
that  it  was  possible  to  approach  it  and  notice  the 
colour  of  its  plumage  with  the  aid  of  the  glasses.  It 
was  a  young  bird  ;  and  it  may  be  hoped  that  for  once 
the  nest  has  escaped  the  hands  of  the  cliff-climbers, 
who  rob  it  annually.  Ten  years  before,  according  to 
a  record  of  a  visit  to  these  cliffs  which  the  writer 
possesses,  a  peregrine  was  sitting  on  the  same  pinnacle, 
and  was  next  day  trapped  by  a  fisherman.  Further 
to  the  east,  where  the  coast  is  lower,  and  long  stretches 
of  sand  and  rocks  are  exposed  at  low-water,  the  shore 
was  covered  with  birds,  each  kind  strictly  limiting  its 
feeding-ground  to  a  particular  belt  of  shore.  Nearest 
the  cliffs  was  a  bank  of  sea-weed,  covered  by  a  flock 
of  chattering  foraging  starlings.  Next  this  a  strip  of 
dry  sand,  cut  up  by  black  malodorous  streams  which 


3o  THE  SOUTHERN  CLIFFS 

oozed  from  the  decaying  sea-weed  bed.  On  this  a  flock 
of  crows  and  rooks  were  busily  digging  for  food. 
Beyond  lay  a  zone  of  wet  sand,  on  which  a  flock  of 
small  black-headed  gulls  were  daintily  tripping  up  and 
down  on  the  margin  where  the  ripples  rolled  slowly  in. 
Lastly,  in  a  shallow  lagoon,  a  few  big  herring-gulls 
were  standing  quietly  up  to  their  breasts  in  water, 
some  even  sleeping  with  their  heads  half-covered  by 
their  wing.  An  old  fisherman  was  anxious  to  sell 
some  lobsters  which  he  had  in  a  pot  among  the  rocks, 
and  we  followed  him  across  the  slippery  ledges  to 
where  the  pot  and  the  lobsters  lay.  The  creatures 
- — never  described  as  "  fish  "  in  the  Isle  of  Wight — 
were  alive,  and  as  smart  as  a  Lancer,  in  full  uniform 
of  blue  and  gold.  Their  backs  were  deep  blue-black, 
and  their  tails  mottled  with  two  brilliant  shades  of 
Prussian  blue.  Their  smaller  legs  were  mottled  to 
match  their  tails,  but  the  two  big  claws  were  faced 
with  brown  and  pink.  The  antennas  were  pink  also  ; 
but  all  the  under  parts  of  the  body  and  tail  were  pearl- 
coloured,  and  the  joints  of  their  armour-plates  edged 
with  golden  fringe.  How  to  carry  live  and  irritable 
lobsters  without  a  basket  was  a  difficult  problem, 
but  the  two  corners  of  a  pocket-handkerchief  tied  in 
slip-knots  made  a  safe  means  of  transport.  The  pot 
looked  like  a  prawn-pot — which  it  was — and  we 
inquired  of  the  man  whether  he  had  any  prawns. 
"Yes,"  he  said — "one — a  beauty  ;  "  and  taking  off  his 
cap  he  exhibited  an  enormous  live  prawn  sitting  inside  ! 
There  is  almost  nothing  which  a  sailor  will  not  carry 


THE  FROZEN  SHORE  31 

in  his  cap  ;  pipes,  tobacco,  string,  fishing-hooks,  and 
bait,  are  all  accommodated  there, — perhaps  because  he 
rarely  indulges  in  trousers-pockets.  A  man-of-war's- 
man  has  no  pockets  at  all,  and  disposes  of  what 
surplus  property  he  cannot  carry  in  his  cap,  inside  the 
loose  front  of  his  sailor's  shirt,  a  habit  which  sticks 
to  him  after  he  leaves  the  service.  "  And  do  you  ever 
put  a  lobster  in  your  cap  ? "  we  inquired.  "  No,  sir," 
he  replied  ;  "  if  I  haven't  anywheres  else,  I  puts  'em 
in  my  buzzum." 


LAND   WON   FROM   THE   SEA 


BRAD1NG   HARBOUR 

AMONG  the  many  problems  left  by  the  smash  of  the 
"  Liberator  "  Companies,  that  of  the  present  and  future 
management  of  the  reclaimed  lands  at  Brading,  in  the 
Isle  of  Wight,  is  the  most  complicated,  though  perhaps 
not  the  least  hopeful.  The  nature  of  the  appeal  made 
by  this  wild  scheme  in  the  first  instance  to  the  daring 
speculators  who,  seventeen  years  ago,  embarked  the 
resources  of  the  company  in  an  enterprise  of  which  not 
only  the  practical  difficulty,  but  the  financial  worthless- 
ness,  had  already  been  proved  by  actual  experiment, 
as  early  as  the  reign  of  James  I.,  will  probably  remain 
among  the  unknown  factors  of  commercial  failure. 
The  belief  in  the  possibility  of  getting  "Something 
for  nothing,"  due  to  the  notion  that  land  won  from 
the  sea  is  a  kind  of  treasure-trove,  may  have  quieted 
the  first  misgivings  of  shareholders.  But  the  fact  that 
Sir  Hugh  Myddelton,  the  engineer  of  the  New  River, 
though  "  a  crafty  fox  and  subtle  citizen,"  as  Sir  John 
Oglander  noted,  had  ultimately  failed,  not  only  to 
maintain  his  reclamation  of  Brading  Haven,  but  to 
make  it  pay  while  the  dam  lasted,  was  well  known  in 


BRAD  ING  HARBOUR  33 

the  history  of  engineering  ;  and  though  the  mechanical 
difficulties  might  be  overcome  by  modern  machinery, 
the  nature  of  the  harbour  bottom  for  the  growth  or 
non-growth  of  crops  and  grasses  could  hardly  have 
changed.  Briefly,  the  past  history  of  the  Brading 
reclamation  was  as  follows.  In  1620,  Sir  Hugh 
Myddelton  dammed  the  mouth  of  the  river  Yar,  at 
Bembridge,  opposite  Spithead,  and  on  the  seven  hun- 
dred acres  of  land  so  reclaimed  he  "  tried  all  experi- 
ments in  it ;  he  sowed  wheat,  barley,  oats,  cabbage-seed, 
and  last  of  all  rape-seed,  which  proved  best ;  but  all 
the  others  came  to  nothing.  The  nature  of  the 
ground,  after  it  was  inned,  was  not  answerable  to 
what  was  expected,  for  almost  the  moiety  of  it  next 
to  the  sea  was  a  light,  running  sand,  and  of  little 
worth.  The  inconvenience  was  in  it,  that  the  sea 
brought  so  much  sand  and  ooze  and  sea-weed  that 
choked  up  the  passage  for  the  water  to  go  out,  inso- 
much that  I  am  of  opinion,"  writes  Sir  John  Oglander 
in  his  manuscript,  "  that  if  the  sea  had  not  broke 
there  would  have  been  no  current  for  the  water  to 
go  out,  so  that  in  time  it  would  have  laid  to  the  sea, 
or  else  the  sea  would  have  drowned  the  whole  country. 
Therefore,  in  my  opinion,  it  is  not  good  meddling 
with  a  haven  so  near  the  main  ocean." 

This  experiment  had  cost  in  all  £7000,  when  the 
sea  broke  in  ten  years  later,  and  Sir  Hugh  Myddelton's 
fields  once  more  became  harbour  bottom,  and  cockles 
and  winkles  once  more  grew  where  his  meagre  crops 
of  oats  and'  rape  had  struggled  for  existence.  Some 


34  LAND    WON  FROM  THE  SEA 

years  later  an  offer  was  made  to  repair  the  dam  for 
£4400,   but  this  fell  through.      No   one    thought    it 
worth  while  to  spend  the  money,  though  small  arms 
and   creeks  of  the  harbour  were  from  time    to  time 
banked    off  and    reclaimed    by   adjacent    landowners. 
The  attempt  which  had  baffled  Sir  Hugh  Myddelton 
was  suddenly  revived  by  the  Liberator  Directors  seven- 
teen years  ago.     The  sea  was  banked  out,  almost  on 
the  lines  of  Sir  Hugh   Myddelton's  dam  ;   a  straight 
channel,  of  double  the  size  necessary  for  the  mere  drainage 
of  the  higher  levels,  cut  for  the   passage  of  the  river 
and  the  holding   of  its  waters  during  high-tide,  when 
the  sluices  are  automatically  closed  ;  and  a  railway  and 
quay  were  added,  with   a  hotel   at   Bembridge.     Solid 
and  costly  as  their  embankment  was,  the  sea  broke  in, 
steam-engines  and  machinery  were  toppled    from  the 
dykes  and  buried  in  the  mud,  workmen  were  drowned, 
and  the  whole  enterprise  was  within  an  ace  of  becoming 
a  little  Panama.     But  at  last  the  sea  was  beaten,  643 
acres  of  weltering  mud  were  left  above  water,  and  the 
reclamation,  such  as  it  is,  is  probably  won  for  ever. 
But   at   what  a    cost  !       Four   hundred    and    twenty 
thousand  pounds  are  debited  to  the  Brading  reclama- 
tion, of  which  last  sum  we  may  assume  that  £100,000 
were  expended  on  the  railway,   quay,  and    buildings, 
leaving   £320,000    as    the    price    of  six  hundred  and 
forty-three  acres  of  sea-bottom. 

As  reclamation  of  mud-flats  and  foreshores  has 
lately  been  much  advocated  as  a  means  of  providing 
"  work  and  wages,"  and  of  adding  to  the  resources  of 


BRADING  HARBOUR  35 

the  country,  the  present  state  and  probable  future  of 
the  land  won  from  the  sea  at  Brading  is  a  matter  of 
some  interest,  omitting  all  considerations  of  the  original 
cost.  We  may  concede  at  once  that,  from  the  pictur- 
esque point  of  view,  the  reclaimed  harbour  is  a  great 
improvement  on  the  ancient  mud-flats.  It  has  added 
to  the  Isle  of  Wight  what  seems  a  piece  of  Holland, 
covered  with  green  pasture  and  grazing  cattle.  This 
area  is  as  much  withdrawn  from  the  intrusion  of  man 
as  the  old  lagoon  ;  for  as  on  the  mud-flats  there  were 
no  roads,  no  rights-of-way,  and  no  footpaths,  so  the 
reclamation  is  a  roadless  district,  secured  absolutely 
to  the  use  of  the  occupiers,  and  incidentally  to  the 
wild-fowl  which  swarm  by  its  shallow  pools  and 
drains.  The  broad  embanked  river  runs  straight 
through  the  centre,  and  divides  into  two  the  level 
which  lies  like  a  green  sea  between  the  ring  of  sur- 
rounding hills  and  the  harbour-bank.  In  this  river, 
the  waters  of  the  ancient  reclamations  higher  up  the 
valley  collect  during  high-water,  when  the  pressure 
from  the  sea  automatically  shuts  the  sluices,  and  pour 
out  during  low-tide,  when  the  pressure  of  the  sea  is 
removed,  through  the  iron  gates,  near  which  lie,  with 
the  grooves  still  sound  and  sharply  cut,  parts  of  the 
sluices  made  for  Sir  Hugh  Myddelton  of  English 
oak  in  the  year  1621.  The  general  shape  of  the 
reclamation  is  an  oval,  with  one  of  the  smaller  ends 
facing  the  sea,  and  the  other  abutting  on  ancient  dams 
near  Brading,  two  miles  higher  up  the  valley.  The 
whole  of  this  has  been  converted  into  firm,  dry  land  ; 


36  LAND    WON  FROM  THE  SEA 

neither  is  its  quality  so  inferior  as  Sir  Hugh  Myddel- 
ton  judged.     Possibly  the  improvement  in  the  seven- 
teen years  during  which  the  old  sea-bottom  has  been 
exposed  to  sun  and  rain,  has  been  proportionately  more 
rapid  than  in  the  ten  in  which  it  was  exposed  to  the 
air  after   1620.     Then  half  the  area  was  described  as 
consisting  of  "  light,   running   sand  of  little    worth," 
though  the  upper  portion  promised  to  become  valuable 
pasture.     Those  advocates  of  reclamation  of  land  from 
the  sea,  who  propose  to  "  leave  it  to  Nature  "  when 
the  sea  has  once  been  barred  out,  can  see  at  Brading 
and  Bembridge  what   it  is  exactly  that    Nature  does, 
and  how  far  art  can  help  to  make  old  sea-bottom  into 
pasture  for  cattle,  and  even  into  a  playground  for  men 
and  women,  in  seventeen  years.     It  must  be  remem- 
bered that   in  this  case  Nature  has  been  hurried,  and 
made  to  do  her  work  before  her  time.     Left  to  itself, 
the    harbour   would  have    silted  up  in    the  course  of 
centuries,  and  the  pastures  would  have  grown  of  them- 
selves, on  land  already  covered  with  the  alluvial  mould. 
As  it  is,  the  sea  was  swept  from  the  land,  which  had 
to  take  its  chance  as  it  was, — mud,  sand,  shingle,  or 
cockle-beds,  just  as  they  came.     There  was   not  even 
an  earthworm  on  the  whole  six  hundred  acres  to  move 
the  soil  and  help  the  rain  to  wash  the  salt  out  of  it. 
The  wonder  is  not   that   the  change  has  taken  place 
so  slowly,  but  that  the  change  from  a  soil  supporting 
marine  vegetable  growth  in  one  set  of  conditions,  to 
a  soil  largely  covered  with  grass,  clover,  and  trefoil, 
has  matured  so  quickly.     What  was  once  the  head  of 


BRADING  HARBOUR  37 

the  bay  is  now  good  pasture  covered  with  cattle,  and 
letting  at  30^.  an  acre — there  are  one  hundred  and 
fifty  acres  of  this  good  ground.  Nature  has  already 
prepared  it  in  part — for  it  was  mud-flat,  washed  from 
the  valley  above — and  still  preserves  in  contour,  though 
covered  with  grass,  the  creeks  and  "  fleets "  in  which 
the  tide  rose  and  fell.  All  round  the  fringes  of  the 
flat,  where  it  joins  the  old  shore,  the  earthworms  have 
descended  and  made  a  border  of  fair  soil.  On  one 
side  sewage  has  been  run  into  the  hungrier  soil  ;  and 
there,  on  a  natural  level,  the  true  use  and  place  of 
such  experiments  is  seen.  Three  crops  of  grass  a  year 
are  cut  from  ground  which  otherwise  would  not  fetch 
more  than  $s.  an  acre — a  hint,  perhaps,  for  the  dis- 
posal of  some  of  the  London  "effluent."  There 
remains  a  portion  of  dead,  sour  greensand  on  which 
no  herbage  grows,  though  the  advance  of  soil  and 
grass  may  be  noted,  like  the  gradual  spread  of  lichen 
on  a  tree.  Each  patch  of  rushes,  each  weed  and 
plantain,  gathers  a  little  soil  round  its  roots  or  leaves, 
and  the  oasis  spreads  until  all  is  joined  and  made  one 
with  the  better  ground.  A  cattle  farm  and  nursery 
garden  occupy  the  centre  of  the  sea-weed  curve.  The 
farm  is  already  surrounded  by  rich  grasses,  clover,  and 
sweet  herbage,  and  the  garden  is  a  wonder  of  fertility. 
Not  only  vegetables,  but  roses,  chrysanthemums,  car- 
nations, lavender,  and  other  garden  flowers  are  there 
reared  in  profusion  ;  and  in  the  present  month  masses 
of  mauve  veronica  are  in  blossom.  In  walking  over 
what  is  now  good  pasture,  the  evidences  of  the  recent 


38  LAND    WON  FROM  THE  SEA 

nature  of  all  this  agricultural  fertility  crop  up  on  every 
side.  Where  the  turf  lies  in  knolls  and  hillocks,  the 
sea-shells  may  still  be  seen  lying  bleached  or  purple 
among  the  roots  of  the  grass,  and  what  would  be  taken 
for  snail-shells  elsewhere  are  found  to  be  little  clusters 
of  the  periwinkles  and  mussels  for  which  Brading 
Haven  was  once  famous.  But  perhaps  the  greatest 
success  in  the  conversion  of  the  old  harbour  to  daily 
use  is  the  present  condition  of  the  "  light,  running 
sand "  near  the  sea.  This  sand  must  have  a  stratum 
of  clay  beneath  it,  for  groves  of  poplar  trees  planted 
on  it  are  now  in  vigorous  growth.  But  for  some 
years  the  land  lay  barely  covered  with  cup-moss,  lichen, 
and  thin,  poor  grass,  a  haunt  of  rabbits  and  shore-birds. 
It  is  now  converted  into  a  golf-ground,  and  studded 
at  short  intervals  with  level  lawns  of  fine  turf  for 
"putting  greens,"  which  daily  extend  their  area,  and 
promise  before  long  to  convert  the  "  running  sands  " 
into  a  beautiful  and  park-like  recreation-ground.  The 
beauty  of  the  whole  scene  is  much  increased  by  the 
number  of  half-wild  swans,  which  are  constantly  in 
movement,  either  swimming  upon  the  pools  and 
streams,  or  flying  to  and  from  the  sea.  These  swans 
are  among  the  natural  agents  busied  in  aiding  the 
reclamation  of  the  land.  They  feed  almost  entirely 
upon  the  weeds  which  would  otherwise  choke  up  the 
dykes,  and  it  is  believed  that  two  swans  do  as  much 
work  in  keeping  the  water-ways  free  and  open  as 
could  be  done  by  a  paid  labourer. 

The    following    notes  on    the   reclamation,  and   the 


BRADING  HARBOUR  39 

garden  now  cultivated  upon  it,  are  from  the  pen  of 
Mr.  C.  Orchard,  the  lessee  of  the  latter,  whose  practical 
experience  I  give  exactly  as  he  communicated  it  to  me, 
together  with  an  extract  from  an  article  on  the  wild 
plants  of  the  sand-hills  which  he  contributed  to  The 
Journal  of  Horticulture. 

"  Some  portions  of  the  reclamation  contain  a  sulphur- 
ous matter  injurious  to  vegetation,  and  require  a  top- 
dressing  of  manure  or  other  soil  for  the  seed  to 
germinate  in.  There  are  many  varieties  of  soil  and 
substances  to  be  found  throughout  the  whole  area. 
The  best  for  vegetation  is  a  kind  of  loamy  deposit  of 
mud,  on  the  highest  parts  ;  that  is,  above  the  strata 
of  sand  :  in  this  nearly  every  variety  of  cereal  and 
vegetable  luxuriates  and  grows  beyond  all  proportions. 
There  are  four  acres  included  by  a  fence,  and  now 
cultivated  by  me,  as  a  market-  and  flower-garden. 
The  soil  is  rich  in  phosphates,  and  all  kinds  of 
vegetables  grow  wonderfully  clean  and  of  good  flavour  ; 
the  asparagus  especially  being  noted  for  its  delicious 
flavour,  being  in  its  natural  element  as  a  seaside  plant. 
Apples,  plums,  and  peas  have  been  tried  with  great 
success,  and  flowers  of  all  kinds  grow  and  flower  in 
great  profusion  ;  the  bright  colours  coming  out  to  the 
highest  degree  in  the  open  and  sunny  position. 

"  Quite  indigenous,  the  wild  bastard  samphire  or  glass- 
wort  grows  most  profusely  around  the  brackish  streams 
and  lakes.  The  horn-poppy  also  luxuriates  on  the 
sides  of  the  road  that  forms  the  embankment,  and  on 
two  distinct  places  I  have  found  the  very  rare  Silene 


40  LAND    WON  FROM  THE  SEA 

quinquevulnem,  which  I  believe  has  been  found  only 
in  two  or  three  places  in  England.  The  wild  evening 
primrose,  Mnothera  vulgaris,  is  found  both  here  and 
at  St.  Helens  'Dover/  as  well  as  the  sea-holly. 

"  The  St.  Helens  *  Dover  '  is  interesting  on  account 
of  the  beautiful  and  somewhat  rare  plants  found 
growing  thereon.  It  is  a  strip  of  land  that  stretches 
out  and  forms  one  of  the  arms  of  Brading  Harbour 
(now  better  known  as  Bembridge  Harbour),  and  com- 
posed almost  entirely  of  sea-sand  that  has  been  washed 
and  drifted  up  since  the  days  of  Sir  Hugh  Myddelton. 
It  is  covered  entirely  with  vegetation  peculiar  to  this 
soil,  and  the  undulating  surface  of  neat  and  fine  turf, 
formed  chiefly  of  the  sheep's  fescue  grass,  forms  the 
very  beautiful  links  of  the  Royal  Isle  of  Wight  Golf 
Club.  In  summer  I  constantly  find  patches  of  the 
great  sea-bindweed,  Calystegia  soldenella,  growing 
there.  It  trails  and  spreads  over  the  sands,  and  twines 
about  amongst  the  reeds  and  grasses,  bearing  a  profusion 
of  large,  mauvy-pink,  convolvulus-like  flowers,  quite 
2j  or  3  inches  in  diameter.  The  sea-holly,  Eryngium 
maritimum,  is  another  beautiful  object  that  grows 
profusely  ;  its  silver-grey  branches  being  surmounted 
by  blue  heads  of  teazle-like  flowers.  The  common 
thrift  or  sea-pink,  Armeria  vulgaris,  grows  every- 
where, and  forms  part  of  the  ordinary  turf.  In  the 
autumn,  thousands  of  tiny  heads  of  the  light-blue 
autumn  squill,  Scilla  autumnalis,  spring  up  amongst 
the  turf,  and  the  white  and  yellow  varieties  of  the 
common  stonecrop  abound  everywhere." 


SOUTHERN    ESTUARIES 


SALMON-NETTING    AT  CHRISTCHURCH 

WITH  the  exception  of  the  coracle-fishing  in  the 
Welsh  rivers,  the  salmon-netting  at  Christ  church  is 
perhaps  the  most  ancient  and  primitive  method  of 
taking  the  fish  which  still  survives  in  England.  More- 
over, the  site  of  the  fishery  is  unique,  with  surroundings 
of  sea,  land,  harbour,  river,  and  town  of  a  kind  without 
parallel  or  analogy  on  all  the  long  line  of  British  coast. 
The  waters  of  the  Hampshire  Avon  and  the  Dorset- 
shire Stour  which  meet  at  Christchurch,  and  hurry  in 
great  swirling  pools  past  the  grey  towers  and  arches  of 
the  ancient  priory,  and  under  the  many  bridges  of  the 
town,  are  cut  off  from  their  natural  impetuous  entry  to 
the  sea  by  the  long  ironstone  ridge  of  Hengistbury 
Head.  Between  the  town  and  the  sea  this  great  dyke 
thrusts  itself  across  the  sky-line,  and  at  flood-tide 
ponds  back  the  whole  of  the  tidal  and  river  water  into 
a  broad  lake,  the  exit  from  which  into  the  sea  might, 
for  all  that  can  be  seen  from  this  inland  harbour,  be  by 
some  subterranean  passage  beneath  the  cliff  itself.  The 


42  SOUTHERN  ESTUARIES 

actual  gate  by  which  the  outflow  from  the  hundreds  of 
acres  of  swollen  waters  escapes  at  the  ebb  into  the  sea, 
is  a  short  and  narrow  channel,  called  the  "  Run,"  which 
cuts  its  way  between  two  overlapping  claws  of  sand- 
spit,  the  inner  planted,  down  almost  to  its  point,  with 
gradually  dwindling  pines,  the  outer  rising  from  flat 
shingle  to  moulded  heaps  of  "  sand-bennets,"  until  it 
joins  the  ironstone  rock  of  Hengistbury.  It  is  in  the 
narrow  waters  of  the  "  Run "  that  the  salmon  are 
caught,  as  they  begin  to  ascend  the  river  at  the  turn  of 
the  tide.  The  mystery  which  the  near  presence  of  the 
invisible  sea  adds  to  the  approach  to  this  strange  spot 
makes  a  visit  a  series  of  surprises  and  discoveries.  Not 
until  the  last  few  yards  are  reached  of  the  long  road, 
which  skirts  the  eastern  side  of  the  bay,  does  the  scene 
suggest  that  the  harbour  is  anything  but  a  land-locked 
lake,  dominated  by  the  great  pile  of  the  priory  walls 
and  towers.  The  path  runs  along  the  claw  of  the 
inner  spit,  at  the  end  of  which  are  three  or  four  old 
brown  brick  houses,  with  that  bare,  battered,  salted 
look  which  betrays  the  neighbourhood  of  the  sea.  The 
pines  on  the  left  grow  thinner  and  more  gaunt,  and  as 
the  view  suddenly  opens,  there,  within  a  stone's-throw, 
lie  two  long  strips  of  sand,  a  short  length  of  shining 
river,  and  beyond  its  mouth  the  long,  grey,  tumbling 
sea.  On  the  left  stretches  the  richly-wooded  Solent 
shore  ;  beyond,  and  across  the  water,  the  chalk  cliffs  of 
the  Isle  of  Wight,  the  Needles,  and  the  open  waters  of 
the  Channel. 

In  the  short   channel  through    which    the    harbour 


SALMON-NETTING  AT  CHRISTCHURCH      43 

waters  pour  into  the  sea  the  net-fishing  goes  on  without 
ceasing  from  the  beginning  of  the  ebb  till  the  turn  of 
the  tide.  The  order  of  fishing  is  settled  by  agreement, 
and  each  boat  in  turn  is  rowed  out  into  the  stream 
carrying  the  far-end  of  the  net,  while  the  other  is  held 
upon  the  shore  by  a  partner,  who  walks  opposite  as 
boat  and  net  are  swung  down  by  the  stream.  Before 
the  mouth  is  reached  the  boat  completes  its  circle,  and 
comes  to  shore,  where  both  ends  of  the  net  are  made 
fast,  and  the  long  line  of  corks  swing  with  the  tide  till 
they  lie  in  a  deep  narrow  loop,  parallel  with  the  wet 
sand  of  the  bank.  Then  comes  the  hauling  of  the  net. 
Both  men  pull  the  wet  mass  rapidly  in  hand-over-hand, 
pausing  now  and  again  to  fling  out  masses  of  sea-weed, 
until  the  last  twenty  yards  of  the  net  are  reached.  If 
the  bosom  cork  is  ducking  under,  if  the  gently  bellying 
folds  of  the  long-meshed  trough  are  in  a  tumult,  there 
is  one  salmon  or  more  in  the  net,  enough  to  repay  the 
fishers  for  a  score  of  fruitless  casts.  But  in  nineteen 
cases  out  of  twenty  nothing  disturbs  the  even  sinus  of 
the  floating  line,  and  the  meshes  float  on  like  clouds  in 
the  translucent  waters,  carrying  with  them  only  light 
and  feathery  masses  of  pink  and  crimson  kelp.  The 
words  "  we  have  toiled  all  night  and  have  taken 
nothing "  come  home  with  a  ring  of  human  effort 
unrewarded,  as  net  after  net  is  hauled  only  to  be  found 
empty.  But  the  Christchurch  fishermen  are  not  a 
complaining  race.  No  sooner  has  one  net  swung  at 
the  bottom  of  the  river  than  another  has  started  at  the 
top  and  is  waltzing  down  with  the  stream.  The  fun 


44  SOUTHERN  ESTUARIES 

is  kept  up  like  the  gallop  in  a  cotillon,  each  pair  of 
partners  hoping  as  they  start  that  the  caprice  of  fortune 
will  give  them  the  prize.  It  comes  at  last.  The  ebb 
has  been  running  for  an  hour,  at  which  time  the  salmon 
smell  the  fresh-water  out  at  sea,  and,  fired  with  the 
sudden  recollection  of  love  and  adventure  in  the  river, 
rush,  throbbing  with  impetuous  life,  into  the  narrow 
waters  of  peril.  Gently  the  net  swings  with  the  tide, 
contracting  and  lengthening  as  if  invisible  fingers  were 
drawing  its  centre  downwards  to  the  sea,  until  it  lies  in 
the  still  water  by  the  bank,  a  narrow  channel  of  cloudy 
meshwork  some  fifty  yards  in  length.  Before  half  has 
been  pulled  on  to  the  dripping  pile  of  net  and  sea-weed 
which  lies  behind  the  haulers,  a  rush,  a  great  gleam  of 
white  and  silver,  and  a  splash  tell  without  need  of  the 
sudden  shout  "  A  fish  !  a  fish  ! "  that  a  salmon  is  in 
the  toils.  Furiously  he  dashes  from  end  to  end  of  the 
yielding  trap,  sending  water,  sand,  and  spray  flying  on 
every  side.  Desperately  he  drives  his  shining  head 
into  the  dragging,  sluggish,  invisible  meshes.  Had  he 
only  the  one  further  gift  of  reason  than  that  which  his 
experience  gives,  he  would  leap  into  the  air  and  clear 
the  encircling  lines  before  it  is  too  late.  But  the  net 
curves  quickly  in  and  closes  over  the  fish,  and  in  a 
second  it  is  lying  a  broad  silver  bar  upon  the  yellow 
sand.  The  symmetry  and  lustrous  sheen  of  such  a 
salmon  seen  within  a  minute  of  its  return  from  its 
unknown  life  in  the  ocean,  perfect  in  form,  strength, 
and  vigorous  life,  makes  good  its  claim  to  be  considered 
almost  the  most  beautiful  of  living  creatures,  and 


SALMON-NETTING  AT  CHRISTCHURCH       45 

beyond  comparison  the  finest  fish  that  swims  in  British 
seas. 

The  first  fish  taken  in  the  day  gives  an  impulse 
to  the  work  of  every  boat.  Salmon  seldom  come  up 
singly,  but  rush  into  the  fresh-water  in  little  parties 
of  two,  three,  or  four,  and  not  unfrequently  the  whole 
company  are  taken  in  a  single  net.  The  fortunate 
captors  "  track  "  their  boat  back  to  the  ferry  at  the 
head  of  the  "  Run "  to  await  their  next  turn,  and 
meantime  row  across  to  the  little  inn  which  stands 
upon  the  point.  To  carry  a  20  Ib.  salmon  by  the 
gills,  a  man  crooks  his  arms  in  to  the  hip,  and  even 
so  only  just  swings  its  tail  clear  of  the  ground.  The 
arrival  of  the  fish  is  awaited  by  a  critical  company 
of  veterans,  knowing  in  the  subject,  who  have  already 
guessed  its  weight  and  recorded  their  opinions  with 
a  minuteness  and  emphasis  which  show  that  reputations 
may  be  made  and  lost  even  in  guesses  at  the  size 
of  a  salmon  seen  at  a  distance  of  two  hundred  yards 
upon  the  sands.  For  the  fishing  is  alike  the  sport 
of  youth  and  the  solace  of  age.  Custom  allows  one 
share  of  the  proceeds  to  the  boat,  one  to  the  net, 
and  two  to  the  crew,  and  veterans  who  own  the  two 
first  can  afford  to  spend  their  day  watching  the  efforts 
of  the  last  to  earn  a  living  at  all.  The  accuracy  with 
which  the  size  is  guessed  is  surprising.  Of  a  dozen 
estimates  made  of  the  weight  of  a  salmon  which  turned 
the  scale  at  exactly  20  Ibs.,  a  mistake  of  i^  Ibs.  was 
the  utmost  limit  of  error.  No  difficulty  is  made 
of  selling  the  fish  upon  the  spot  ;  and  any  one  who 


46  SOUTHERN  ESTUARIES 

is  so  fortunate  as  to  be  present  when  the  capture 
is  made  may  purchase  it  at  from  is.  to  is.  6cl.  per 
pound  cheaper  than  would  be  paid  in  a  Bond  Street 
shop.  Fifty-two  pounds  is,  we  believe,  the  weight 
of  the  largest  taken  in  the  Christchurch  river  ;  three 
fish  of  38^  Ibs.,  26  Ibs.,  and  22  Ibs.  at  one  haul 
fell  to  the  lot  of  one  fortunate  fisherman  quite  early 
last  season  towards  the  end  of  April.  But  the  fish 
are  few  and  captures  rare  ;  rarer,  it  is  said,  than  in 
former  days,  when  one  of  the  oldest  men  boasts  that 
he  once  took  nine  great  salmon  in  a  single  haul.1 
But  if  these  scarce  southern  fish  can  still  be  caught 
in  sufficient  number  to  pay,  what  might  not  be  the 
value  of  a  restored  Thames  salmon  fishery  in  which 
the  catch  would  be  numbered  by  hundreds,  delivered 
fresh  and  unspoilt  by  ice  at  London  Bridge  ? 

The  few  Christchurch  salmon  which  find  their  way 
into  the  London  shops,  are  sold  at  one-third  above 
the  price  asked  for  those  from  more  distant  waters. 
These  fish  are  caught  so  fresh  from  the  sea  that 
the  salt  is  hardly  washed  from  their  scales  ;  in  the 
very  mouth  of  the  swift  fresh  river,  yet  within  a 
stone's-throw  of  the  breakers,  and  so  near  to  London 
by  rail  that  the  epicure  may  see  the  fish  upon  his 
dinner-table  within  a  few  hours  of  the  time  that  it 
was  thrown  glittering  upon  the  white  sea-sand.  Their 

1  Mr.  M.  D.  Barton  informs  me  that  inside  the  harbour  great 
hauls  of  flounders  are  made.  "  I  once  saw,"  he  adds,  "  one  haul 
of  nearly  200  flat-fish,  the  greater  part  flounders.  They  took  the 
appearance  of  one  immense  heaving  flat-fish,  in  which  live 
flounders  took  the  place  of  scales." 


SALMON-NETTING   AT  CHRISTCHURCH       47 

freshness  alone  would  justify  their  reputation  in  the 
London  markets.  But  there  is  a  quality  and  refine- 
ment alike  of  flavour  and  appearance  in  the  salmon 
of  Christchurch  which  lifts  them  into  a  rank  just 
one  degree  higher  than  that  enjoyed  by  any  others, 
even  of  their  justly  honoured  race.  The  delicacy  of 
their  flavour  is  beyond  verbal  description  ;  and  while 
some  vainly  point  to  analogies  in  this  or  that  taste 
of  other  and  baser  fishes,  or  find  a  reason  for  their 
excellence  in  the  luxurious  food  of  the  fish  on  the 
Solent  shore,  pointing  to  the  fact  that  a  Christchurch 
salmon  fresh  from  the  sea  will  look  at  no  less  dainty 
bait  than  the  pink-fleshed  tail  of  a  prawn,  others 
more  justly  claim  that  their  flavour  is  due  to  their 
being  taken  at  the  exact  psychological  moment  in 
which  their  spirits  reach  the  acme  of  salmonoid 
exuberance,  at  the  instant  of  leaving  the  sea  and 
entering  the  river  ;  and,  as  extremes  meet,  the  taste 
of  the  salmon  which  has  met  its  death  in  an  ecstasy 
of  pleasure  may  well  excel  even  that  of  the  sucking- 
pig  to  which  a  gusto  may  be  imparted,  according  to 
ancient  writers,  if  its  death  be  caused  by  flagellation, 
in  an  intenerating  ecstasy  of  pain. 

Contrary  to  experience,  the  largest  fish  taken  from 
the  Christchurch  river  seem  to  have  been  captured 
with  the  rod.  In  the  casts  of  fish  in  the  room  at 
South  Kensington,  which  contains  the  collections  of 
the  late  Frank  Buckland,  is  one  of  a  52  Ib.  salmon 
taken  at  Christchurch  with  the  rod.  It  was  a  female 
fish,  in  the  very  brightest  and  best  condition.  A 


48  SOUTHERN  ESTUARIES 

middle-aged  farmer,  with  whom  the  writer  had  a 
chat  on  the  way  from  Christchurch  to  the  "Run," 
gave  the  following  terse  description  of  the  chances 
of  sport  with  the  rod  at  Christchurch.  He  was 
a  sincere  admirer  of  the  "  Run "  fishing,  which 
is  a  kind  of  social  institution  for  the  Mudiford 
gossips  who  sit  in  the  parlour  of  the  little  inn  on 
the  spit,  and  drink  their  ale,  while  they  watch  the 
hauling  of  the  nets,  and  discuss  the  annals  of  the 
fishery  with  others  "  in  the  fancy."  "  They  pays 
a  deal  of  money,  and  they  fishes  very  industrious  ; 
and  what  they  catches  they  aren't  always  allowed 
to  keep.  And  often  it  so  happens  as  them  as  fishes 
hardest  toils  in  vain.  Others  come,  and  fishes  with 
a  light  heart,  and  happen  on  the  luck."  By  this 
time  my  friend  had  got  well  into  the  narrative  style 
and  continued  like  a  book.  "Once  there  came  here 
a  cricketer  ;  he  was  a  cricketer,  not  a  fisherman,  any 
one  could  see.  He  never  changed  his  cricket  coat, 
but  he  took  a  boat  just  as  he  was,  Yes  ;  just  as 
he  stood  in  his  cricketing  clothes.  And  the  said 
cricketer  hadn't  fished  ten  minutes  before  he  caught 
a  thirty  pound  fish,  and  he  landed  him,  that's  what 
he  did  ;  and  he  might  never  live  to  catch  another." 

The  fishermen  of  the  "  Run "  mostly  belong  to 
the  little  village  of  Mudiford,  which  lies  close  by, 
and  are  without  exception  the  best  mannered  and  most 
taking  set  of  men  I  have  ever  seen  in  rural  England, 
though  I  have  heard  of  a  fishing  community  near 
Land's  End,  who  seem  to  have  much  resembled  them, 


SALMON-NETTING  AT  CHRISTCHURCH       49 

and  been  even  more  closely  united.  The  life  on  the 
spit,  between  the  inland  lake  and  the  sea,  seems  to 
have  cut  them  off  from  the  rather  demoralizing 
influence  which  the  proximity  of  shore  life  always 
has  on  fishermen,  and  at  the  same  time  made  them 
great  sportsmen  and  fowlers  as  well  as  fishermen. 
Hence  they  are  often  in  request  to  manage  fowling- 
yachts,  punts,  and  apparatus  for  that  kind  of  sport. 
There  is  a  kind  of  double  harvest  going  on  all  the 
year  round,  of  fish  and  fowl,  and  as  the  men  draw 
their  nets  their  big  guns  are  seldom  far  off.  In 
summer,  when  the  fowl  are  protected,  they  keep  up 
a  constant  warfare  on  the  cormorants.  The  pro- 
ceedings seem  quite  well  understood  both  by  birds 
and  men.  The  cormorant  colony  is  on  the  Needles 
and  the  Freshwater  cliffs,  many  miles  across  the 
Solent.  The  birds  fly  over,  and  rising  high  over  the 
lurking  guns,  go  up  the  harbour  and  there  catch 
trout  and  eels  till  their  crops  are  full.  They  then 
fly  back,  and  over  to  the  Needles,  to  feed  their 
young.  The  burden  of  fish  makes  it  more  difficult 
for  the  cormorants  to  rise  clear  of  gunshot,  and  each 
as  it  passes  is  saluted  with  a  discharge  of  swan-shot. 
But  very  few  seem  to  be  killed,  though  the  men 
declare  that  every  cormorant  robs  the  harbour  of 
fourteen  pounds  weight  of  fish  per  diem.  As  they 
approach  the  sand-hills  near  the  "  Run,"  they  rise 
gradually  in  the  air,  and  then  fly  at  full  speed,  with 
necks  stretched,  out  to  sea,  saluted  by  the  roar  of 
the  big  guns  discharged  after  them  by  the  fisherlads. 


5o  SOUTHERN  ESTUARIES 

The  winter  shooting,  especially  in  severe  weather 
like  that  of  last  year,  must  yield  not  only  amuse- 
ment, but  a  certain  return  in  fowl  to  those  men 
whose  houses  are  within  sight  of  the  tidal  harbour, 
and  in  some  cases  almost  washed  by  its  waters.  They 
shoot  against  one  another,  and  seem  out  at  all  hours, 
day,  night,  or  dawn,  so  that  a  stranger  has  very 
little  chance  of  a  shot.  But  this  is  natural  enough, 
seeing  that  the  men  live  on  the  spot,  and  have  a 
kind  of  prescriptive  right  to  the  fish  and  fowl  of  their 
own  harbour. 


THE   LAST   OF   THE  OSPREYS 

IT  has  recently  been  made  matter  of  complaint 
against  the  Christchurch  fishermen  that  they  shoot  the 
ospreys,  which  yearly  visit  their  land-locked  harbour. 
The  complaint  is  perfectly  justified,  and  the  worst  of 
it  is  that  nothing  will  induce  the  men  to  take  the 
modern  view  of  the  matter,  and  think  that  a  live 
osprey  is  a  "  thing  of  beauty  "  which  ought  to  be  "  a 
joy  for  ever."  On  the  contrary,  they  think  they  look 
better  stuffed,  and  if  not,  that  they  are  worth  more  to 
sell  than  a  wild  goose  or  a  couple  of  duck. 

"  Did  you  ever  shoot  an  osprey  ? "  I  asked  of  a 
young  fellow,  the  eldest  of  a  family  of  brothers  who 
were  working  their  salmon-nets  in  turn.  He  was  as 
fine  a  young  Englishman  as  I  ever  saw,  with  light 
curling  yellow  hair,  blue  eyes,  straight  nose,  and 
dressed  in  the  most  picturesque  costume  for  that  Norse 
type,  a  white  jersey  and  flat  sailor's  cap. 

"  No,  I  never  had  that  pleasure  /  "  he  replied,  in  the 
polite  phrase  which  these  men  seem  naturally  to  affect. 
But  he  had  tried  often  enough,  and  it  was  interesting, 
though  deplorable,  to  hear  what  trouble  he  had  taken 


52  SOUTHERN  ESTUARIES 

to  do  so.  The  motive  was  a  purely  sporting  instinct, 
and  the  only  form  of  protection  would  be  for  the 
Hampshire  County  Council  to  pass  a  resolution  for- 
bidding ospreys  to  be  shot ;  the  Dorsetshire  Council 
might  do  the  same  for  their  protection  in  Poole 
Harbour  further  west.  In  the  long  lagoon  of  the 
"Fleet,"  inside  Chesil  Bank,  they  are  probably  safe 
enough,  as  most  wild  creatures  are  on  the  estates  of 
great  proprietors.  Of  all  the  rarer  creatures  of  Great 
Britain,  there  is  none  that  deserves  protection  more 
than  the  osprey.  It  is  unique  alike  in  structure  and  in 
habits  ;  the  sole  representative  of  its  class  among  birds, 
with  strong  affinities  to  the  great  fishing-owls  of  the 
tropics,  though  itself  a  true  hawk,  high-couraged  and 
singularly  friendly  to  man,  and  of  a  size  and  strength 
approaching  that  of  the  eagles.  The  safe  channels  in 
the  Hampshire  estuaries  are  marked  out  by  a  curious 
and  probably  very  ancient  method  of  sea-marks  called 
"  leather  and  twig."  On  one  side  are  posts  surmounted 
with  old  leather  buckets,  or  sometimes  pieces  of  trace, 
or  a  horse  collar  ;  but  the  old  buckets,  being  part  of 
the  come-at-able  refuse  of  ships'  stores,  are  the  com- 
monest. To  the  stakes  on  the  other  side  are  fastened 
old  birch  brooms,  or  branches  of  trees.  As  the  posts 
are  far  apart  and  the  channels  intricate,  this  rough 
contrivance  indicates  which  post  is  to  be  considered  on 
the  right  and  which  on  the  left  of  the  channel.  These 
posts,  often  surrounded  by  hundreds  of  acres  of  water, 
are  the  favourite  perches  of  the  osprey,  and  on  them  it 
sits  unconcerned,  every  now  and  again  leaving  its  post 


THE   LAST  OF  THE    OSPJtEYS  53 

to  catch  a  flounder  or  grey  mullet,  on  which  it  pounces 
with  a  rush  like  that  of  the  solan-goose,  striking  the 
water  with  its  thickly  feathered  breast,  and  driving  its 
strong  talons  deep  into  the  fish.  At  Christchurch, 
where  they  are  known  as  the  "  mullet-hawks,"  the 
young  ospreys  on  their  migration  may  be  seen  every 
autumn  ;  and  one  at  least  of  the  residents  by  the 
estuary  makes  it  his  business,  when  prowling  gunners 
are  about,  to  be  on  the  water  in  his  punt,  and  scare 
away  the  too-confiding  hawks  from  the  posts  on  which 
they  sit.  Most  of  these  young  ospreys  are  probably 
bred  in  Norway  and  Sweden, — the  older  birds  which 
are  seen  on  their  way  northwards  in  the  spring  being 
bound  for  the  same  shores. 

But  some  of  the  Christchurch  ospreys  are  probably 
British  birds,  and  it  seems  probable  that  the  breeding 
places  whence  they  come  in  autumn,  or  to  which  they 
are  returning  in  spring,  may  be  known  with  some 
approach  to  certainty.  In  a  report  recently  read  before 
the  Zoological  Society,  it  was  stated  that  there  are  but 
three  pairs  which  regularly  breed  in  Scotland  ;  and  in 
recognition  of  the  protection  extended  to  these  survivors 
by  the  owners  on  whose  property  the  nests  were  built, 
the  Society  resolved  to  bestow  their  silver  medal  on 
Donald  Cameron  of  Lochiel,  and  Sir  John  Peter  Grant 
of  Rothiemurchus.  To  Sir  J.  P.  Grant,  whose  death 
occurred  a  few  days  before  the  day  on  which  the 
presentation  was  to  have  been  made,  belonged  the  credit 
of  protecting  what  is  perhaps  the  most  ancient  con- 
tinuous breeding-place  of  the  osprey  in  the  Highlands. 


54  SOUTHERN  ESTUARIES 

Loch-an-Eilan  lies  in  the  narrow  gorge  between  the 
Cairngorm  mountains  and  the  hill  of  Ord  Bain,  bordered 
by  deep  woods  of  tall  and  ancient  pines,  the  remnants 
of  the  original  Caledonian  forest.  Near  the  western 
shore,  but  wholly  surrounded  by  the  waters  of  the  lake, 
is  an  islet,  covered  by  an  ancient  rectangular  castle,  said 
to  have  formed  one  of  the  strongholds  of  the  "  Wolf 
of  Badenoch."  Looking  at  the  castle  from  the  nearest 
point  on  the  shore,  the  angle  on  the  left  is  seen  to  be 
strengthened  by  a  square  tower,  that  on  the  right  is 
formed  by  a  smaller  turret,  and  piled  on  this  to  a  height 
of  several  feet,  broad  and  substantial  and  enduring,  is 
the  ospreys'  eyrie.  Year  after  year  the  birds  have 
travelled  northwards  to  their  ancient  haunt,  reaching 
the  old  castle  in  the  same  week,  and  thrice,  it  is  said, 
upon  the  same  day,  April  ist  ;  and  the  record  of  their 
success  or  failure  in  rearing  their  brood  is  probably 
more  complete  than  that  of  any  similar  period  of  bird- 
history  yet  preserved.  The  nest  was  seen  by  Mac- 
Cullough,  the  geologist,  in  1824.  It  was  robbed  by 
Gordon-Cumming,  afterwards  known  as  the  most 
ruthless  and  destructive  of  all  African  hunters,  who  is 
fabled  to  have  carried  an  egg  to  the  shore  "  in  his 
mouth," — probably  in  his  bonnet,  held  between  his 
teeth,  as  Lewis  Dunbar  carried  the  eggs  which  he 
robbed  from  a  similar  eyrie,  in  company  with  St.  John, 
about  the  same  time.  Even  after  that  date  ospreys 
built  not  only  on  the  island  castle,  but  in  the  giant  firs 
on  the  bank  both  of  Loch-an-Eilan  and  the  neighbour- 
ing Loch  Morlaich  ;  but  the  continuous  felling  of  timber 


THE  LAST  OF  THE    OSPREYS  55 

so  alarmed  them  that  their  numbers  were  reduced  to 
the  single  pair  upon  Loch-an-Eilan.  It  was  shortly 
after  this  period,  in  1872,  that  a  disaster  occurred 
which  for  a  time  left  the  nest  on  the  old  castle  tenant- 
less.  A  sportsman,  seeing  a  strange  bird  rise  from  a 
burn,  shot  what  proved  to  be  the  male  osprey  ;  and 
though  for  two  years  the  female  bird  returned  in  the 
first  week  of  April,  and  remained  by  the  nest  waiting 
for  her  old  mate  to  join  her,  she  finally  disappeared,  and 
for  six  years  no  ospreys  were  seen  on  Loch-an-Eilan. 
But  in  the  first  week  of  April  1878,  a  pair  revisited 
the  castle,  and  at  once  set  to  work  to  repair  the  deserted 
nest  upon  the  turret.  In  due  time  the  eggs  were  laid  ; 
and  as  no  boat  was  allowed  upon  the  loch,  the  young 
were  hatched,  to  the  delight  of  the  whole  neighbour- 
hood, who  made  common  cause  in  the  protection  of 
the  brood.  For  ten  years  the  visits  of  the  ospreys 
were  not  interrupted,  and  the  care  with  which  the 
fish-hawks  brooded  and  fed  their  young  has  been  the 
most  interesting  spring  sight  on  Loch-an-Eilan.  "  All 
that  was  visible  of  the  hen-bird,"  wrote  a  visitor  x  in 
1880,  "  was  her  brown  back  on  a  level  with  the  twigs, 
and  her  erect  head  and  flashing  eye,  which  she  con- 
stantly turned  with  the  restless  watchfulness  of  all 
predatory  birds.  She  was  looking  up  the  loch  when 
we  arrived,  a  position  which  she  seemed  to  prefer,  but 
successively  faced  in  all  directions.  She  formed  an 
interesting  sight,  with  her  grey  crest  and  head,  and  the 

1  Mr.  W.  Jolly,  in  the  Leisure  Hour. 


56  SOUTHERN  ESTUARIES 

darker  line  round  the  neck — which  gave  her  the  appear- 
ance of  wearing  a  cowl — her  pure  white  breast,  and  the 
long,  hair-like  feathers  of  the  upper  part  of  the  body 
blown  picturesquely  about  by  the  wind.  She  generally 
sat  quiet  on  the  nest,  gazing  round,  now  readjusting 
the  bleached  sticks  of  her  nest,  then  changing  her 
attitude  to  settle  down  in  watchful  repose.  The 
extraordinary  devotion  of  so  wild  a  creature  to  the 
trying  duties  of  motherhood  was  most  impressive.  She 
seldom  left  the  nest  day  or  night,  being  supplied  with 
necessary  nourishment  by  her  loving  and  unwearied 
partner."  Of  the  male  bird  the  same  observer  writes  :— 
"  We  saw  the  male  bird  approaching  high  in  the  air 
from  the  south.  He  swept  round  in  narrowing  circles, 
and  finally  settled  on  the  nest  beside  his  mate.  While 
on  the  wing  he  showed  nothing  in  his  talons,  which 
were  hidden  in  the  longer  feathers  beneath  ;  but  he 
came  not  empty-handed,  for  he  laid  on  the  broad  edge 
of  the  nest  a  shining  fish,  and  this  the  hen  proceeded  at 
once  to  consume.  .  .  .  His  behaviour  to  his  wife  was 
at  all  times  modest,  dignified,  and  attentive,  as  befitted  a 
bird  of  quiet  tastes,  good  character,  and  aquiline  rank." 
It  is  difficult,  indeed,  not  to  feel  a  grudge  against  the 
selfish  egg-collectors,  whose  greedy  agents  ruin  all  the 
hopes  of  such  patterns  of  animal  happiness  and  duty. 
The  ten  years  of  unbroken  peace  in  this  highland  home 
were  broken  by  a  tragedy  which  was  due,  not  to  human 
molestation,  but  to  a  curious  and  inexplicable  family 
feud  among  the  ospreys  themselves,  which  has  once 
more  left  the  eyrie  on  the  castle  desolate.  In  the  April 


THE  LAST  OF  THE    OSPREYS  57 

of  1888  a  pair  reached  the  lake  as  usual,  though  with 
an  interval  of  a  few  days  between  the  arrival  of  the 
male  bird  and  its  mate.  The  last  was  evidently  a 
stranger,  though  possibly  one  of  the  young  hatched  the 
year  before,  but  it  took  possession  of  the  nest,  and 
busied  itself  in  preparing  it  for  the  summer.  A  few 
days  later  a  second  female  appeared,  and  from  the 
moment  of  her  arrival  the  eyrie  was  the  scene  of  con- 
tinuous warfare  between  the  rival  birds,  each  endeavour- 
ing to  drive  the  other  from  the  nest.  The  first-comer 
was  the  stronger,  and  maintained  her  place,  in  spite  of 
the  savage  attacks  of  the  older  bird,  who,  soaring  above 
the  turret,  pounced  upon  her  back,  and  tore  her 
plumage  with  beak  and  talons.  For  two  days  the 
struggle  went  on  from  dawn  till  dusk,  with  little  inter- 
mission. On  the  third,  the  dispossessed  osprey  seemed 
exhausted,  but  her  efforts  to  turn  out  the  intruder  did 
not  cease  until  the  latter,  suddenly  rising  from  the  nest, 
flew  towards  her  enemy,  and  struck  her  a  blow  which 
hurled  her  senseless  into  the  lake.  The  victor  then 
pounced  upon  her,  and  driving  her  talons  on  to  her 
body,  tore  the  wounded  bird  with  beak  and  talons  until 
she  floated  dead.  The  osprey  then  flew  back  to  the 
nest  which  had  been  the  object  of  this  fatal  warfare, 
but  in  a  few  days  left  the  castle  and  built  a  nest  in  a 
fir-tree  at  some  distance  from  the  island.  No  eggs 
were  laid,  and  the  pair  soon  left  Loch-an-Eilan,  never 
to  return  together.  Each  year  the  male  bird  has  visited 
the  castle,  on  which  it  sits  and  calls  for  its  dead  mate, 
and  after  hovering  anxiously  round  the  old  home  for  a 


58  SOUTHERN  ESTUARIES 

few  days,  disappears,  and  is  seen  no  more  till  in  the 
early  days  of  the  following  spring  it  renews  its  melan- 
choly pilgrimage.  Another  pair  have  nested  in  the 
woods  near  Loch  Morlaich,  at  a  few  miles'  distance, 
but  the  solitary  osprey  of  Rothiemurchus  has  not 
yet  found  a  partner  for  his  home  on  the  ruined 
tower. 

Doubtless  the  Zoological  Society's  informants  are 
correct  in  saying  that  there  exist  only  three  eyries 
which  have  been  continuously  inhabited.  But  there  is 
good  reason  to  believe  that  the  fishing-hawks  have  not 
left  the  country,  but  have  only  retired  from  their 
natural  eyries  on  the  lakes  to  the  deep  and  inaccessible 
fir-woods  which  now  cover  so  much  of  the  once  treeless 
north.  Mr.  Booth,  who  travelled  from  loch  to  loch, 
and  visited  all  the  eyries  best  known  by  tradition  on 
the  lakes,  found  them  all  deserted.  He  then  explored 
the  dense  pine-forests  which  grow  on  the  steep  hill- 
sides or  marshy  lower  ground.  "  It  was  necessary,"  he 
writes,  "  to  force  a  way  through  a  tangled  growth  of 
gigantic  heather,  entwined  in  places  with  matted  bushes 
of  juniper  or  bog-myrtle,  while  here  and  there  waving 
bogs  of  green  and  treacherous  moss,  intersected  by 
stagnant  pools  or  streams,  blocked  the  way.  The 
atmosphere  was  stifling,  screened  from  every  breath  of 
wind  ;  and  clouds  of  poisonous  flies  and  midges  buzzed 
in  myriads  round  one's  head."  There,  in  the  largest 
pines,  he  found  the  new  homes  of  the  ospreys,  which, 
like  the  golden-eagles,  are  protected  by  the  quiet  of  the 
great  preserves.  On  some  of  the  larger  estates,  two  or 


THE  LAST  OF  THE    OSPREYS  59 

even  three  nests  might  be  visited  in  a  single  day.  In 
the  more  open  districts  the  birds  have  wholly  dis- 
appeared, or  are  only  occasional  visitors  to  the  scenes 
which  were  once  their  chosen  home  throughout  the 
spring  and  summer. 


6o 


POOLE   HARBOUR 

THE  estuaries  on  the  coast  have  an  even  greater 
variety  of  wild  life  to  amuse  and  interest  a  sea-side 
visitor  than  the  cliffs ;  and  floating  on  their  wide 
expanse  of  shallow  waters,  or  threading  the  delta  of 
mud-flats  and  rivulets  that  shift  with  every  tide,  is  to 
many  an  experience  as  novel  and  interesting  as  the 
cries  and  forms  of  the  birds  which  haunt  them. 

Sheldrakes,  curlews,  dotterels,  plovers,  herons,  and 
the  like,  look  very  different  when  swimming  or  flying, 
and  when  hanging  in  a  poulterer's  shop.  What  strikes 
a  new-comer  most  is  the  great  number  of  the  waders 
and  other  birds  which  he  sees  on  his  visits  to  any 
favourite  estuary,  such  as  Poole  Harbour,  or  the 
Aldboro'  river,  especially  when  the  flood-tide  is 
making,  and  the  birds  are  crowded  together,  busily 
feeding  on  such  parts  of  the  mud  as  are  not  covered 
by  the  rising  tide.  But  it  must  be  remembered  that 
as  all  these  birds  feed  mainly  on  the  mud-flats,  and 
can  only  do  so  at  low-water,  they  are  forced  to  meet 
at  one  time,  and  are  obliged  to  feed  in  company,  like 
city  men  at  luncheon. 


POOLE  HARBOUR  61 

The  best  way  to  learn  the  habits  of  the  fowl  is  to  row 
up  on  the  flood-tide  with  a  boatman,  if  possible  a  local 
fisherman  who  knows  the  habits  of  the  birds  and  the 
set  of  the  tide.  Yet  the  exploration  of  such  harbours 
without  local  knowledge  has  its  charms.  My  first 
visit  to  Poole  Harbour  was  paid  in  the  form  which  all 
history  prescribes  as  the  right  one  for  approaching 
unknown  shores,  that  is  by  sea,  and  on  a  voyage  of 
discovery.  In  other  words  we  were  in  a  yacht — a  large 
and  comfortable  steam-yacht — which  had  to  be  very 
carefully  navigated  into  the  harbour  and  over  the  bar. 
An  hour  spent  musing  over  the  charts  in  the  chart- 
house  on  deck  as  we  crossed  the  chord  of  the  Bourne- 
mouth Bay,  after  rounding  Hurst  Castle,  showed  more 
completely  than  most  maps  the  extraordinary  character 
of  this  intricate  estuary,  for  a  chart  shows  the  formation 
not  only  of  the  land,  but  of  the  sea-bottom,  and  the 
fathom-markings  show  the  respective  areas  of  shoal, 
deep  water,  sand,  and  mud-bank. 

The  chart  not  only  showed  how  at  Poole,  harbour 
lay  within  harbour,  like  the  outline  of  a  bunch  of 
grapes,  but  the  enormous  expanse  of  "  slob-lands  "  in 
proportion  to  navigable  water  in  these  inland  lagoons. 
One  inlet  runs  for  many  miles  up  towards  the  "  Trough 
of  Poole,"  another,  Hollesley  Bay,  lies  at  the  back,  and 
to  the  east  of  Poole  town,  which  itself  lies  several 
miles  from  the  narrow  entrance.  To  the  left  another 
lagoon  stretches  inland  further  than  the  eye  can  see, 
surrounding  islands  of  sound  ground  with  trees  and 
cattle  on  them.  But  we  were  not  prepared  for  the 


62  SOUTHERN  ESTUARIES 

positive  beauties  which  the  entrance  to  the  harbour 
disclosed,  though  expecting  that  substitute  for  beauty 
—  picturesqueness  —  which  seems  inseparable  from 
harbour  scenery. 

As  we  came  slowly  in  over  the  blue  water,  and 
passed  over  the  bar,  our  surprise  and  admiration 
increased.  On  the  right  was  a  spit  of  sand-hills, 
covered  with  masses  of  purple  heather  and  a  few  wind- 
blown pines.  To  the  left  lay  Brownsea  Island,  with 
its  castle  and  trees  ;  to  the  left  a  wide  inland  sea, 
lying  between  Brownsea  Island  and  the  long  sweep  of 
Purbeck,  with  the  keep  of  Corfe  Castle  standing  up 
far  off,  black  against  the  evening  sun.  In  front  lay 
the  way  up  to  Poole  town,  with  quaint  ports  and  sea- 
marks, and  one  or  two  pretty  wooden  sailing  vessels 
dipping  down  with  the  tide.  On  either  side  of  Poole 
the  sea  seemed  to  run  inland  till  lost  in  heather  and 
pines. 

It  was  the  first  of  August,  the  opening  day  for 
wild-fowl  shooting,  and  bare-legged  fishermen  were 
standing  on  one  or  two  shingle-banks  just  left  by 
the  tide,  firing  at  flocks  of  ring-dotterels  which  were 
shifting  about  the  harbour.  We  also  caught  the 
infection,  and  getting  the  yacht's  dingy,  rowed  off 
towards  the  setting  sun  up  the  branch  of  the  estuary. 
There  is  a  singular  charm  in  such  an  excursion  into 
unknown  waters.  Even  the  minor  problems  of  navi- 
gation, when  a  choice  has  to  be  made  between  different 
channels  among  thousands  of  acres  of  slob  and  sea- 
weed-covered ooze,  serve  to  remind  one  of  the  diffi- 


POOLE  HARBOUR  63 

culties  which  real  explorers  have  to  encounter  in  the 
unknown  river  waters  which  are  so  often  the  first  road 
of  entrance  to  newly-discovered  countries.  Beyond 
Brownsea  Island  were  two  hilly  and  bare  islets.  On 
either  side  the  slob  was  emerging  minute  by  minute, 
curlews  and  gulls  were  flitting  to  and  fro,  and  the  level 
beams  of  sunset  lit  up  the  flats  with  a  blaze  of  mellow 
gold.  On  the  left,  beyond  the  flats,  was  a  great  plain 
of  heather,  gradually  rising  mile  by  mile  towards  the 
cliffs  of  Purbeck  Island.  Among  the  commonest  and 
most  interesting  of  the  harbour  ducks  are  the  sheldrakes. 
They  are  devoted  parents,  and  as  the  boat  drifted  up 
between  the  grey  banks  of  ooze,  the  big  black  and 
white  birds  were  seen  watching  anxiously  by  the 
harbour's  edge,  while  the  young  ones,  full-grown,  but 
unable  to  fly,  were  swimming  out  in  mid-stream. 
Presently  the  old  birds  rose  and  flew  in  swift  circles, 
and  the  young  ones  dived.  The  boat  being  rowed 
quickly  towards  the  places  where  they  disappeared,  they 
scattered,  and  when  next  they  rose,  showed  only  their 
heads  above  water,  diving  again  instantly  at  the 
slightest  movement.  Meantime  the  old  bird  settled 
at  some  distance,  and  soon  the  young  were  seen  rising 
from  below  water  all  round  her,  after  which  they  swam 
off  up  the  nearest  creek. 

If  chased  into  a  narrow  channel,  the  young  will 
sometimes  leave  the  water,  poke  their  heads  into  a 
crevice,  and  allow  themselves  to  be  caught.  The  eggs 
are  generally  laid  in  a  rabbit-burrow  in  the  great 
heather-clad  plain  to  the  left  of  the  harbour,  often  at 


64  SOUTHERN  ESTUARIES 

a  considerable  distance  from  the  water.  Sir  R.  Payne 
Gallwey  states  that  he  saw  one,  "when  the  tide  was 
Jow,  and  she  was  unable  to  lead  her  brood  to  the  sea, 
carry  them  on  her  back,  each  duckling  holding  on  by 
a  feather,  having,  while  she  lay  down,  climbed  up  and 
ensconced  themselves  with  the  greatest  care."  We 
were  anxious  to  get  a  young  sheldrake  as  a  specimen, 
and  rowed  up  the  stream  which  flows  down  from  Corfe 
Castle,  in  pursuit  of  another  brood  of  the  young 
ducks.  Their  skill  and  quickness  in  swimming  and 
diving  for  a  long  time  defeated  us.  But  as  the  river 
grew  narrower  the  space  left  to  the  birds  for  sub- 
marine tactics  was  contracted,  and  we  secured  one  to 
take  back  to  the  yacht.  It  was  of  a  white  and  cin- 
namon colour,  not  in  the  least  like  the  plumage  of 
the  old  birds,  but  a  handsome  creature,  both  in  the 
tint  and  texture  of  its  skin.  Meantime  the  sun  had 
sunk,  the  flats  grew  dark,  and  the  broad  stretch  of 
water  had  changed  into  a  great  level  mud-flat,  fringed 
by  dark  heather  and  pines,  and  intersected  by  a  wind- 
ing, baffling  stream  down  which  we  crept  towards 
the  yacht's  lights  in  the  distance.  As  the  night 
drew  on  the  whole  harbour  seemed  alive  with  birds. 
Ducks,  curlews,  and  waders  flitted  to  and  fro,  and  the 
air  was  full  of  calls  and  sounds  quite  unfamiliar  to 
inland  naturalists.  Every  now  and  again  we  heard 
the  croak  of  a  heron,  as  one  after  another  they  flew 
in  and  took  up  their  stations  for  the  night's  fishing. 
Long  after  bed-time,  as  we  lay  awake  listening  to  the 
lap  of  the  water  against  the  yacht's  side  and  the  rush 


POOLE  HARBOUR  65 

of  the  tide  on  the  cables,  the  cries  of  the  coast-birds 
could    be    heard — the    familiar    noises    of    Neptune's 
poultry-yard,  feeding  round  the  threshold  of  the  deep. 
At  the  end  of  the  great  frost  of  the  beginning  of 
the   year    1895   ^   Pa^  another   visit  to  the  harbour; 
this    time    approaching    it   from    the    east,    along    the 
Bournemouth    and   Branksome    sands,    and    following 
the  coast-line  to  the  extreme    point  of  the  sand-hills 
at    the    harbour    entrance.       Race-horses,    frozen    out 
from  Newmarket  Heath,   were   training  on    the  edge 
of  the  sand,  under  the  yellow  cliff ;  the  sun  was  bright 
and  hot  under  the  shelter  of  the   pines,   and  the  sea 
was  slipping  in  in  waves  so  tiny  that  they  barely  rose 
to  the  height  of  the  horses'  fetlocks.     They  were  the 
merest  pretence  and  fiction  of  waves — sportive,  illusive 
—yet  where  the  long  sand-dam  joins  the  upper   cliff, 
and    shuts    in    the    right-hand    haven    of  Poole    from 
the  sea,  where  the  entrance  would   be,  and  may   have 
been,  before  the  sand-hills  grew,  was  the  fresh  wreck 
of  a    thousand    ton  ship,   her   paint   new,  her  fittings 
perfect,  except  the  bulwarks,  and  her  name  still  legible 
upon  the  stern.     She  had  tried  to  make  the  entrance 
of  Poole  harbour,  when  caught  in  the  gale,  the  effects 
of    which    upon    the    sea-fowl    have    been    described 
in  a  previous  chapter.1      The   Swanage  life-boat  came 
out  gallantly  through  the  "  Race  "  which  runs  round 
"Old   Harry  Rock"   at   St.   Alban's    Head,    but  the 
boat  was  swamped  and  the  coxswain  drowned.     Then 

1  The  Sea-Fowl  and  the  Storm,  p.  17. 


66  SOUTHERN  ESTUARIES 

the  Poole  lifeboat  came  down,  and  saved  the  men  on 
the  vessel,  who  were  in  danger  of  death,  not  only  from 
the  sea,  but  from  the  certainty  that  if  left  on  the 
stranded  ship  they  would  be  frozen  to  death.  Opposite 
the  wreck,  but  on  the  margin  of  the  shore,  lay  the 
backbone  of  an  older  wreck,  part  of  a  smaller  vessel 
lost  many  years  before.  It  is  a  curious  tribute  to  the 
constancy  of  the  set  of  the  current  in  the  gales  most 
dangerous  on  this  coast,  that  had  the  new  wreck  been 
able  to  drift  right  on  shore,  she  would  in  all  probability 
have  laid  her  timbers  on  the  bones  of  her  predecessor 
in  disaster.  The  sand-hills  were  quite  beautiful  even 
in  the  frost.  The  heather  and  moss  which  contrives 
to  exist  even  on  the  sand  were  of  the  richest  dark 
plum- colour  and  green  respectively.  The  frost  had 
nipped  all  the  dead  heather  blossom  off,  and  this  lay 
in  little  piles  and  patches,  like  dark  seed-pearls,  daintily 
scattered  on  the  sand.  In  other  places  the  wind-blown 
sand  had  been  quite  freshly  piled,  and  was  covered 
with  the  tracks  of  mice,  and  strange  to  say,  of  rats, 
which  had  been  out  foraging  for  food  the  night  before. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  sand-hills  the  wind  was 
blowing  down  the  harbour,  bitterly  cold.  Nearly  all 
the  harbour  was  ice-bound,  and  the  swans,  to  avoid 
being  nipped  by  the  ice,  had  collected  together  in  a 
flock  in  one  of  the  bays,  where  by  constantly  swim- 
ming and  keeping  together,  they  kept  a  little  circle  of 
still  unfrozen  water.  All  other  fowl  seem  to  have 
forsaken  the  harbour  for  some  less  frozen  sea. 


THE   SWANNERY   AT   ABBOTSBURY 

WHETHER  judged  by  the  strangeness  and  beauty 
of  its  surroundings,  or  the  number  and  variety  of 
the  wild  birds  that  make  it  their  home,  there  is 
no  more  attractive  spot  for  the  naturalist,  even  on 
the  line  of  coast  which  includes  Poole  Haven,  Christ- 
church,  and  Lymington,  than  the  Fleet,  the  straight 
lagoon  which  runs  for  nine  miles  from  the  Isle  of 
Portland  to  Abbotsbury,  behind  the  barrier  of  Chesil 
Beach.  There  is  not  an  acre  of  water  on  the  narrow 
shining  lagoon,  or  a  rood  of  shingle  on  the  Chesil 
Beach  which  banks  it  in,  that  is  not  the  chosen  home 
of  the  wild-fowl  of  the  river  or  the  shore.  During 
the  winter,  wild  ducks  and  coots  in  thousands  crowd 
the  sheltered  waters  of  the  Fleet  ;  in  summer,  the 
hot  and  hazy  surface  of  the  shingle  swarms  with  the 
young  of  the  terns  and  dotterels  ;  and  at  the  head  of 
the  water,  in  an  almost  tropical  growth  of  pampas 
grass  and  fuchsias,  and  the  rankest  luxuriance  of  the 
herbage  of  the  marsh,  is  the  swan  paradise  of  Abbots- 
bury.  The  nine  straight  miles  of  water  below  is  only 
the  playground  of  the  birds ;  but  in  spring  this  is 


68  SOUTHERN  ESTUARIES 

forsaken,  except  by  a  few  pairs  that  nest  on  the 
inner  side  of  Chesil  Beach  ;  and  the  rich  and  shel- 
tered mead  which  fringes  Abbotsbury  Brook  is  white 
with  the  graceful  forms  of  a  thousand  nesting  swans. 
In  this  their  ancient  haunt,  so  ancient  that  although 
the  hills  behind  are  crowned  with  the  ruins  of  votive 
chapels  and  ancient  monasteries,  the  swans  may  claim  for 
their  established  home  an  equal  if  not  greater  antiquity, 
all  the  favourite  sites  were,  at  the  time  of  a  visit  paid 
early  in  April,  occupied  by  the  jealous  and  watchful 
birds,  each  keenly  resentful  of  intrusion  on  its  territory, 
yet  in  such  close  proximity  to  its  neighbours  that  a 
space  of  ten  or  twelve  feet  at  most  divided  it  from 
ground  in  "  separate  and  hostile  occupation."  Near  the 
mouth  of  a  small  stream  which  enters  the  Fleet  below 
a  close  and  extensive  bed  of  reeds,  now  cut  down  and 
stored  for  the  use  of  the  birds  when  building,  lies  the 
ground  most  coveted  by  the  swans.  There,  between 
two  hundred  and  three  hundred  nests,  or  sites  for 
nests,  were  occupied  on  a  space  of  two  acres  at  most. 
So  anxious  are  the  birds  to  secure  a  place  on  this 
favourite  spot,  that  they  remain  sitting  constantly  on 
the  place  when  occupied,  in  order  to  maintain  their 
rights  against  intruders,  and  there  collect  with  their 
long  necks  every  morsel  of  reed  and  grass  within 
reach  to  form  a  platform  for  the  eggs.  At  this  time 
the  swanherd  visits  them  constantly,  and  scatters  bundles 
of  dried  reeds  from  the  stacks,  which  are  eagerly 
gathered  in  by  the  swans  and  piled  round  and  beneath 
them  as  they  sit.  These  additions  to  the  nest  go 


THE   SWANNERY  AT  ABBOTSBURY          69 

on  continually  ;  and  as  the  cock-swan  takes  his  share, 
or  even  more  than  his  share,  of  the  duties  of  sitting 
upon  the  eggs,  one  of  the  pair  is  always  at  liberty  to 
collect  fresh  material.  This  is  mainly  piled  in  a 
kind  of  wall  round  the  nest,  the  interior  being  already 
finished,  and  often  partly  felted  with  a  lining  of 
swansdown  from  the  birds'  breasts.  To  the  visitor 
who,  under  the  guidance  of  the  swanherd,  walks 
on  the  narrow  grass-paths  which  wind  amid  the 
labyrinth  of  nests,  the  colony  recalls  visions  of  visits 
to  the  island-homes  of  the  great  petrels  or  giant 
albatrosses  in  distant  oceans.  Many  of  the  swans  have 
built  their  nests  so  that  they  even  encroach  upon  the 
paths  ;  and  each  of  the  great  birds  as  he  passes  throws 
back  its  snake-like  head,  and  with  raised  crest  hisses 
fiercely  and  rattles  the  pinions  of  its  wings,  or  even 
leaves  the  nest,  and,  with  every  feather  quivering  with 
excitement,  makes  as  though  it  would  drive  the 
intruder  from  the  sanctuary.  But  the  presence  of  the 
swanherd  generally  reassures  the  birds,  though  the 
hissing  rises  and  falls  as  if  from  the  throats  of  a 
thousand  angry  snakes.  In  view  of  the  natural  jealousy 
and  fierceness  of  swans  in  the  breeding  season,  the 
comparative  gentleness  of  the  Abbotsbury  birds  is 
somewhat  remarkable.  On  the  rivers  and  broads  of 
Norfolk,  each  pair  claims  and  secures  a  large  stretch 
of  water  for  their  sole  use,  and  constant  and  some- 
times fatal  fights  take  place  if  the  reserved  territory 
is  invaded  by  another  pair.  There,  also,  the  swans 
will  occasionally  attack  not  only  strangers,  but  the 


7o  SOUTHERN  ESTUARIES 

swanherds  themselves,  who,  owing  to  the  extent  of 
the  streams  and  dykes  along  which  the  swans  nest, 
are,  of  course,  less  well-known  to  the  birds  than  are 
the  keepers  at  Abbotsbury.  Mr.  Stevenson  was  told 
by  John  Trett,  a  marshman  of  Surlingham,  that  he 
was  "  attacked  by  an  old  male  swan  as  he  was  examin- 
ing the  eggs  in  a  nest,  to  which,  being  a  boggy  place, 
he  had  crawled  on  his  hands  and  knees.  The  swan, 
coming  up  behind  him  unperceived,  struck  him  so 
violently  on  the  back,  that  he  had  difficulty  in  regain- 
ing his  boat,  where  he  laid  for  some  time  in  great 
pain,  and  though  he  managed  at  length  to  pull  home, 
he  was  confined  to  his  bed  for  more  than  a  week." 
Another  marshman  was  struck  on  the  thigh  in  the 
same  manner,  and  described  the  force  of  the  blow 
and  the  pain  occasioned  by  it  as  something  incredible. 
The  Abbotsbury  swans,  though  not  pinioned  like  the 
Norfolk  birds,  and  leading  a  life  of  freedom  on  the 
verge  of  the  sea,  seem  to  know  by  instinct  that  the 
protection  and  safety  which  they  obtain  at  Abbotsbury 
is  more  than  enough  to  compensate  them  for  the 
loss  of  the  freedom  and  independence  which  an  isolated 
nesting-place  must  give ;  and  with  the  exception  of 
about  twenty  pairs,  they  congregate  as  has  been 
described,  abandoning  not  only  their  natural  instincts 
for  isolation,  but  also  much  of  the  combativeness  with 
which  this  instinct  is  accompanied.  Fights  between 
the  cock  swans  do  occur.  But  the  swanherd  soon 
restores  peace.  One  fine  old  bird  which  had  quarrelled 
with  both  of  its  neighbours,  was  made  happy  by  a 


THE  SWANNERY  AT  ABBOTSBURY          71 

semicircle  of  tamarisk  boughs  stuck  in  the  earth  around 
its  nest,  and  so  clearly  defining  its  territory. 

Whether  viewed  from  the  land  seawards,  or  from 
Chesil  Beach  across  the  Fleet,  the  scene  was  alike  rich 
in  life  and  colour.  The  strangeness  of  the  view  from 
Chesil  Bank  inwards  makes  it  perhaps  the  more  striking. 
To  the  right  stretches  an  apparently  endless  line  of 
dark-blue  sea,  separated  from  the  lighter  waters  of  the 
Fleet  by  the  golden  shingle  of  "  the  Bank,"  which 
vanishes  into  yellow  haze  towards  Portland  Island. 
On  the  Fleet  opposite  floated  hundreds  of  white  swans, 
among  which  the  black  coots  and  cormorants  swam 
and  dived  like  imps  among  the  angels.  The  further 
shore  was  again  fringed  with  the  dead-gold  of  the  reed- 
stumps,  backed  by  the  rich  green  of  the  hills  beyond. 
As  the  evening  drew  on,  the  birds  and  animals  of  the 
shore  and  the  lake  seemed  to  enjoy  an  exclusive 
dominion  over  their  respective  haunts.  No  human 
being  was  in  sight,  and  the  nine  miles  of  Chesil  Beach 
were  probably  untrodden  by  any  creature  larger  than 
the  hares  which  came  hopping  down  from  the  hills  to 
feed  upon  a  wild  vetch  which  grows  among  the  shingle 
on  the  shore.  The  mackerel-fishing  had  not  begun, 
and  the  men  of  Abbotsbury  and  Chickerel  village  were 
busy  with  farm  work,  leaving  the  eels  and  grey 
mullets  which  swarm  in  the  Fleet  to  the  cormorants 
and  divers,  which  were  busily  fishing  in  the  shallow 
water.  Gregory  Gill,  the  swanherd,  and  his  boy  had 
just  crossed  the  water-meadows  on  their  way  to  the 
village  ;  every  labourer  had  gone  home  an  hour  before  ; 


7 2  SOUTHERN  ESTUARIES 

and  the  writer,  with  an  old  swan  and  a  hare  which 
were  sitting  side  by  side  on  the  shingle,  were  the  only 
spectators.  The  variety  of  sound  was  as  great  as  that 
of  colour.  The  whistle  of  the  ringed  plover,  the  harsh 
cry  of  the  coots,  and  the  angry  deep  note  of  the  male 
swan  as  he  rushed  at  a  rival,  churning  up  the  water 
with  his  powerful  wings,  with  a  noise  like  a  distant 
paddle-steamer,  rang  out  through  the  still  air.  The 
gulls  were  calling,  laughing,  and  crying,  and  across 
the  Fleet  came  the  song  of  the  land-birds  from 
the  poplar-grove  behind  the  swannery.  Then  we  saw 
the  flight  of  the  swan,  a  sight  which  the  practice  of 
pinioning  these  birds  makes  so  rare  in  England.  Four 
swans  rose  slowly  from  the  mere,  after  a  short  rush 
across  the  surface,  in  which  their  wings  beat  the  water 
into  foam,  and  rose  slowly  upwards  in  Indian  file, 
ascending  steadily  against  the  breeze.  When  they  had 
gained  the  height  they  desired,  they  circled  round  the 
head  of  the  lagoon,  and  from  among  the  great  flight  - 
feathers  of  the  beating  wings  there  came  back  a 
measured  sound  like  the  ring  of  a  tubular  bell.  Straight 
out  over  the  meadows  they  flew,  until  they  seemed  like 
snowflakes  over  the  church-tower  a  mile  away,  the 
bell-like  sound  growing  fainter,  but  still  heard,  as  it 
was  echoed  back  from  St.  Catherine's  Hill,  and  increas- 
ing in  tone  and  volume  as  the  birds  once  more  circled 
back  towards  the  mere. 

The  annals  of  the  swannery,  so  far  as  the  writer 
could  gather  its  more  recent  history  on  the  spot,  are 
not  without  chapters  of  disaster  to  the  white-winged 


THE  SWANNERY  AT  ABBOTSBURY          73 

community  in  the  Fleet.  The  total  number  is  at 
present  1002  ;  but  last  year  the  cold  and  wet  of  the 
summer  were  so  fatal  to  the  cygnets,  that  out  of  800 
hatched  all  died  but  one;  150  only  were  reared  by 
hand.  The  birds  are  still  500  less  than  the  total 
number  of  the  flock  before  the  year  1 8  8 1 .  The  frost 
in  that  winter  caused  the  greatest  disasters  from  which 
the  swannery  has  suffered  during  the  present  generation. 
A  heavy  north-west  gale  drove  so  much  water  out  of 
the  Fleet,  that  when  the  frost  came,  the  ice  caught  and 
embedded  the  top  of  the  grasses  which  grow  on  the 
submarine  fields  below.  As  the  water  returned  to  its 
normal  level,  the  ice  rose  with  it,  and  dragged  all  the 
grass  up  by  the  roots,  thus  destroying  over  the  whole 
area  the  main  food  of  the  swans.  For  the  next  three 
years  the  swans  had  to  be  fed  with  grain  ;  but  at  first 
they  refused  to  touch  the  new  food,  and  one  thousand 
adult  swans  perished  of  starvation.  Though  the  grass 
has  now  grown  again,  the  birds  have  never  lost  their 
liking  for  the  corn  which  they  at  first  refused  ;  even 
the  severe  winter  of  1891  did  not  injure  them. 

The  history  of  this,  which  is  not  the  most  ancient 
swannery  in  our  country,  but  the  only  one  surviving  in 
England,  has  been  briefly  summarized  by  Mr.  Mansell 
Pleydell,  in  his  History  of  the  Birds  of  Dorsetshire. 
"  There  are  records  of  a  swannery,"  he  writes,  "  long 
previous  to  the  Reformation  ;  the  abbots  of  the  neigh- 
bouring monastery  being  its  owners.  At  its  dissolution, 
Henry  VIII.  granted  it  to  Giles  Strangways,  the  ancestor 
of  the  present  owner  (Lord  Ilchester),  who  raised  the 


74  SOUTHERN  ESTUARIES 

number  of  the  swans  in  the  course  of  fourteen  years 
from  800  to  1 500."  The  heirs  of  Giles  Strangways 
were  successful  in  defending  their  right  to  the  birds, 
when  it  was  contested  on  behalf  of  Queen  Elizabeth 
that  the  swans,  if  marked,  belonged  to  him,  though 
those  which  were  not  marked,  "  having  gained  their 
natural  liberty  by  swimming  in  an  open  river,  might  be 
seized  to  the  sovereign's  use  by  her  prerogative,  because 
they  are  royal  birds." 

In  August  the  cygnets  of  the  year  are  nearly  fully 
fledged,  but  are  shut  in  pens  with  the  old  birds  in  order 
to  keep  them  warm.  By  this  time  the  swans  begin  to 
scatter  over  the  whole  of  the  Fleet,  and  even  go  into 
Weymouth  Harbour.  By  this  time  the  young  terns, 
bred  on  the  Chesil  Bank,  are  also  fledged  and  on  the 
wing.  The  country  boys  catch  them  by  putting  a 
noose  propped  open  with  a  straw  just  above  a  fish. 
The  birds  stoop  down,  and  are  caught  by  the  neck. 
Later  in  mid-winter,  the  coots  assemble  on  the  Fleet, 
and  in  autumn  sometimes  an  osprey.  In  March  the 
ducks  stay  for  a  short  time  before  going  north,  and 
the  swannery  waters  are  crowded  with  them.  The  few 
that  stay  to  nest  go  up  into  the  hills,  and  bring  their 
young  later  down  the  streams  to  the  Fleet.  They 
have  been  seen  swimming  down  the  brook  through  the 
village  in  the  grey  of  the  morning. 

Abbotsbury  is  one  of  the  choice  spots  of  southern 
England.  The  place  is  as  interesting  as  the  birds. 
Sub-tropical  trees  and  shrubs  grow  in  the  gardens ; 
there  are  the  remains  of  the  monastery,  and  the  old 


THE  SWANNERY  AT  ABBOTSBURY  75 

chapel  on  St.  Catherine's  Hill,  and  the  terraces  showing 
the  ancient  cultivation  of  the  soil  when  each  man  had 
a  strip  in  the  common  fields.  Game  swarms,  especially 
hares  and  pheasants.  But  there  is  probably  no  more 
ancient  institution  native  to  the  place  than  the  swannery, 
which  has  existed  for  800  years,  and  there  seems  no 
reason  why  it  should  not  continue  for  an  equal  time  to 
delight  visitors  from  the  cities  of  men  to  the  city  of 
swans  by  the  sea. 


THE 

PINE    AND    HEATHER    COUNTRY 

IN    PRAISE   OF   PINE-WOODS 

THE  southern  home  counties  are  at  present  the  scene 
of  a  sudden  change  of  ideas  on  the  subject  of  "  eligible 
building  property,"  which  must  before  long  alter  not 
only  the  general  appearance  of  large  tracts  of  country 
which  have,  until  now,  remained  almost  uninhabited 
since  the  memory  of  man,  but  also  the  character  and 
mode  of  life  of  what  were  until  lately  among  the  most 
rural  and  primitive  districts  of  the  South.  The  rush  to 
the  pine-woods,  with  its  transference  of  capital  from  the 
suburbs  not  only  of  London,  but  of  the  great  towns  of 
the  Midlands  and  the  North,  to  the  heaths  of  Berk- 
shire, Surrey,  and  Western  Hampshire,  is  assuming  the 
dimensions  of  an  urban  exodus.  Measured  by  the 
standard  of  the  realized  wealth  and  spending  power 
which  it  represents,  it  must  be  allowed  to  count  in 
some  degree  as  a  makeweight  against  the  loss  to  the 
rural  districts  by  immigration  to  the  towns.  That  the 
movement  is  not  a  mere  foible  of  the  hour,  but  based 


IN  PRAISE   OF  PINE- WOODS  77 

upon  a  strong  conviction  that  the  pine  countries  present 
real  and  abiding  advantages  for  modern  country  life, 
seems  clear  from  the  insistence  with  which  the  new- 
comers cling  to  the  heaths,  and  refuse  the  most  tempt- 
ing offers  to  build  outside  them.  The  villas  follow 
the  line  of  the  sand  as  closely  as  collieries  follow  the 
line  of  the  coal.  Even  the  outlying  and  detached 
wastes,  which,  until  recently,  lay  barren  and  uninhabited 
among  the  Surrey  hills,  or  Hampshire  commons,  are 
parcelled  out  and  covered  with  substantial  houses  ;  and 
there  are  signs  that,  before  many  years,  the  main  tract 
of  the  pine  country  will  be  converted  into  one  immense 
residential  suburb,  composed  of  houses  graded  to  suit 
all  incomes  from  £500  a  year  upwards. 

The  extent  of  the  pine  country  is  not  so  great  as 
to  render  this  surmise  improbable.  Though  it  reaches 
into  the  three  counties  of  Surrey,  Hampshire,  and  Berk- 
shire, it  covers  a  very  limited  area  in  each.  Hampshire 
and  Berkshire  are,  in  the  main,  chalk  soils  ;  and  the 
area  of  the  Surrey  heaths  is  more  than  balanced  by  the 
Weald,  the  mixed  soils,  and  the  downs.  A  line  drawn 
from  Bracknell,  through  Ascot,  and  thence  to  Wey- 
bridge,  marks  the  northern  limits  of  the  true  pine- 
country,  which  forms  an  almost  equilateral  triangle, 
with  its  apex  at  Liss,  on  the  southern  boundary  of 
Woolmer  Forest.  This  portion  includes  Fleet,  Farn- 
ham,  Aldershot,  Bisley,  Weybridge,  Woking,  and  the 
Hind  Head  Commons.  South  of  Liss,  the  Maeon 
Valley  and  the  Chalk  Downs  block  the  way.  Further 
south,  in  the  "  purlieus  "  of  the  New  Forest,  the  sand 


78        THE  PINE  AND  HEATHER   COUNTRY 

once  more  appears,  and  finds  its  final  limit,  and  the 
perfection  of  its  peculiar  beauties,  in  the  pine-woods 
and  cliffs  of  the  great  Bournemouth  Bay,  and  by  the 
shores  of  Branksome  and  Poole  Harbour.  In  the 
larger  northern  position,  which  may  be  roughly  esti- 
mated at  120,000  acres,  the  greater  part  is  already 
marked  with  the  present  or  proposed  sites  for  building. 
From  the  heights  of  St.  George's  Hill  to  the  desolate 
flats  of  Fleet,  the  roofs  of  the  red  houses  stand  thick 
among  the  pines,  or  above  the  birch  and  heather.  The 
great  common  at  the  back  of  Hind  Head  is  becoming 
a  mere  "  hinter-land "  to  villa-gardens,  except  where 
the  ground  still  remains  in  the  hands  of  one  or  two 
owners  of  vast  possessions  ;  and  by  the  cliffs  and  chines 
of  Bournemouth,  where,  in  the  memory  of  living  men, 
yachts'  crews  landed  to  fetch  water  from  the  little 
"  bourne  "  by  a  solitary  coastguard-station,  a  population 
of  forty  thousand  inhabitants  is  imbedded  in  the  pines, 
and  thinks  itself  fortunate  to  secure  a  place  in  the 
groves  upon  the  cliffs,  at  a  price  of  from  £1000  to 
£2000  an  acre. 

Bournemouth  is  the  capital  city  of  the  new  country, 
though  placed  at  its  extreme  limit ;  there  all  has  been 
done  that  money  and  forethought  can  accomplish,  to 
anticipate  the  wants  of  the  new  settlers  in  this  sandy 
Arcadia.  The  creation  of  Bournemouth  is  one  of  the 
economic  puzzles  of  the  century,  quite  as  remarkable, 
and  hardly  less  rapid,  than  the  rise  of  Middlesborough 
or  Barrow-in-Furness  ;  for  its  population  has  gathered 
not  to  make  money,  but  to  spend  it.  The  greater 


IN  PRAISE   OF  PINE-WOODS  79 

number  were,  in  all  probability,  free  to  choose  any 
other  part  of  England  for  a  residence.  The  reason 
for  their  building  a  "  city  to  dwell  in  "  on  this  long 
line  of  Hampshire  sand-cliff,  must  be  sought  in  some 
amenity  of  the  site,  not  so  obvious  as  to  be  perceived 
at  once,  or  Bournemouth  would  have  been  built  long 
ago,  yet  capable  of  'appealing  to  the  senses  of  the 
greater  number  of  those  who  visit  it.  The  proximate 
reason  of  any  sea-side  colony  usually  lies  in  some  very 
direct  appeal  to  sentiment  or  convenience.  Beachy  Head 
"  made "  Eastbourne,  Brighton  is  London-by-the-Sea, 
Hastings  lies  on  a  sunny  shelf,  Scarborough  and 
Whitby  are  the  natural  marine  towns  of  the  West 
Riding,  Ryde  and  Cowes  are  the  yachting  centres, 
Ilfracombe  and  Lynton  share  the  double  beauties  of 
Exmoor,  and  of  coast  scenery  unrivalled  in  the  West. 
Bournemouth  can  claim  none  of  these  special  advan- 
tages. The  long  line  of  yellow  cliffs,  with  the  distant 
bastions  of  chalk  precipice,  Freshwater,  and  the 
Needles  on  the  east,  and  the  pillared  cliffs  of  St.  Albans 
Head  to  the  west,  beyond  the  wide  blue  waters  of  the 
bay,  give  to  the  seaward  view  a  breadth  and  simplicity 
which  grows  upon  the  imagination.  But  it  is  not  by 
its  coast,  or  even  by  the  bright  waters  of  its  sand-paved 
sea,  which  the  wildest  storm  cannot  discolour,  that  the 
place  prevails  on  those  who  visit  it,  to  make  there  an 
abiding  home.  It  is  the  whispering  of  the  deep  pine- 
wood  that  lines  the  land,  and  not  the  voices  of  the  sea, 
which  they  hear  and  obey.  The  pine-wood  of  Bourne- 
mouth is  to  the  plantations  of  the  sand  country  what 


8o         THE  PINE  AND   HEATHER    COUNTRY 

the  groves  of  Mark-Ash  are  to  the  beech-woods  of  the 
New  Forest,  the  climax  of  an  ascending  scale  of  sylvan 
beauty,  produced  by  the  gradual  and  natural  advance 
to  perfection  of  a  single  species  of  tree,  in  a  setting  which 
varies  in  degree  of  beauty,  but  not  in  general  features. 
What  the  charm  of  this  pine-forest  must   have  been, 
before  it  was  discovered  and  inhabited,  can  only  be  con- 
jectured, though  the  first  care  of  the  settlers  has  been  to 
preserve  the  trees,  so  far  as  the  construction  of  roads 
and  houses  allows,  and  their  further  felling  is  forbidden 
by  the  strictest  obligations  of  leases,  and  the  enforcement 
of  local  regulations  against  wanton  burning  and  injury. 
It  is  a  fact  that  the  cross-bill,  the  rarest  and  shyest  of 
the  birds  of  the  Northern  forest,  still   breeds   in  the 
Bournemouth  woods  ;  and  the  ground  is   covered  by 
half-gnawed  cones  flung  down  by  the  squirrels,  which 
build  their  nests  on  the  very  verge  of  the  cliffs.     The 
trees  in  the  oldest   and  thickest    woods    are    not    the 
Scotch  fir,  or  the  ragged  spruce,  which  cover  so  much  of 
the  so-called  "  pine  districts,"  but  true  Western  pines, 
flat-topped  and  straight-stemmed,  with  a  crown  of  up- 
curved  branches,  studded  with  masses  of  heavy  cones, 
full   of  seed,   and  as  prolific    as    on  the  shores  of  the 
Mediterranean.      Many  of  these  trees  are   more    than 
a  century  old,    and    cover    cliff  and  glen    alike    with 
high  vistas  of  tall  grey  stems,  lightly    roofed  by  the 
intersections    and    multiplied    upward     curves    of    the 
branches  which  lace  the  sky,  but  admit  both  air  and 
light  to  the  ground  below.     Thus,  in  the  oldest  woods, 
though    the   mass    of  falling    pine-needles    makes    the 


IN  PRAISE   OF  PINE- WOODS  81 

surface  as  soft  and  noiseless  to  the  tread  as  in  the  thick 
and  crowded  new  plantations  of  the  Woking  heaths, 
the  bracken-fern  has  space  to  grow,  and  the  soil 
between  the  trunks  is  filled  with  all  the  minor  orna- 
ment of  heather,  woodbine,  and  wild-rose.  In  the 
hollows,  masses  of  rhododendron  grow  self-sown,  and 
where  the  sea-wind  strikes  the  summit  of  the  cliffs,  a 
tangle  of  young  pines  makes  a  natural  and  complete 
provision  for  the  shelter  and  quiet  of  the  deep  woods 
beyond.  In  their  peaceful  precincts,  in  the  sound  of  the 
sea-wind  in  the  branches,  the  subtle  scent  of  the  pines 
and  heather,  which  no  rough  wind  can  ever  dissipate, 
in  the  breadth  and  quiet  of  the  sandy  forest,  in  the 
dryness  and  clearness  of  its  air,  purified  by  trees  and 
sea,  the  attraction  of  the  newly  discovered  country  lies. 
Were  its  area  ten  times  greater  than  it  is,  it  would 
hardly  satisfy  the  wants  of  those  who  have  yielded  to 
its  charm.  It  is  already  crowded,  not  from  choice,  but 
because  there  is  not  building  space  for  those  who  desire 
to  live  there.  The  last  thing  to  be  desired  as  the  result 
of  the  new  exodus  is  a  reconstruction  of  town  life  and 
amusements  ;  yet  that  is  exactly  what  is  taking  place  in 
the  choicest  districts  of  the  pine  country.  If  it  becomes 
a  matter  of  faith  that  this  is  the  best  soil,  and  the  best 
air  and  surroundings  to  make  life  happy  and  prolonged, 
there  is  no  price  that  will  not  be  paid,  within  the  scope 
of  individual  means,  to  secure  its  enjoyment.  But  the 
limits  of  space  must  control  the  limits  of  population, 
beyond  which  the  peculiar  amenities  of  the  district 
cannot  survive.  There  are  signs  that  this  limit  is 


82         THE  PINE  AND  HEATHER    COUNTRY 

already  nearly  in  sight  ;  though  in  the  parts  of  Dorset- 
shire adjacent  to  the  Poole  district  there  is  still  a  great 
extent  of  similar  country  available,  and  the  question 
arises,  Where  else  will  be  found  the  same  conditions  ? 
Perhaps  on  the  Norfolk  heaths  ;  or,  if  the  climate  of 
the  East  Coast  is  a  barrier,  we  may  see  the  growth  of 
another  and  more  perfect  city  in  the  pines,  in  the  wide 
sand-hills  of  the  Landes,  between  the  Garonne  and  the 
Adour  in  sunny  Gascony. 


SELBORNE   AND   WOLMER   FOREST 

THE  power  of  locality  to  form  tastes,  and  its  im- 
potence to  subdue  character,  are  shown  with  curious 
completeness  in  the  cases  of  Gilbert  White  and  William 
Cobbett.  The  same  district  and  the  same  soil — for 
Farnham  is  only  twelve  miles  from  Selborne,  and  both 
are  lands  of  beech-hangers  and  hop-gardens,  and  both 
abut  on  sandy  heaths — was  the  birth-place  of  the 
authors  of  the  History  of  Selborne  and  the  Rural 
Rides.  Each  formed  in  youth  such  binding  ties  with 
the  land  and  those  that  live  by  it,  that  he  was  impelled 
to  revisit  the  old  home  and  the  old  scenes,  and  each 
has  left  descriptions  of  them  unmatched  by  art.  But 
at  this  point  the  power  of  locality  ended.  White,  the 
contemplative,  returned  from  Oriel  and  Oxford  to 
become  of  free  will  "  a  stationary  man,"  to  spend  his 
days  in  secure  enjoyment  and  observation  of  the  dis- 
trict he  loved.  Cobbett,  when,  after  the  third  attempt, 
he  had  broken  free  from  the  ties  of  his  father's  farm 
at  Farnham,  returned  only  to  look  down  from  the 
hill-tops  on  his  native  land,  and  then,  after  "  blessing 
it  altogether  "  in  some  of  the  finest  descriptive  English 


84         THE  PINE  AND  HEATHER    COUNTRY 

ever  printed,  rode  back  to  London  to  bombard  his 
enemies  in  the  Political  Register,  and  denounce  Pitt 
and  paper-money.  Sometimes  the  temptation  came  to 
him  to  abandon  his  warfare,  not  for  a  life  of  con- 
templation, like  White's,  but  for  one  of  rural  progress 
and  business  success,  the  secret  of  which  none  knew 
better  than  Cobbett  ;  and  some  such  thought  was 
probably  in  his  mind  when  he  remarked,  on  his  visit 
to  Selborne,  that  "  people  ought  to  be  happy  there,  for 
that  God  had  done  everything  for  them."  But  the 
memory  of  private  wrongs  and  hope  of  public  reforms 
thrust  the  thought  aside.  "  The  delight  of  seeing 
Prosperity  Robinson  hang  his  head  for  shame  !  the 
delight  of  beholding  the  tormenting  embarrassments 
of  those  who  have  so  long  retained  crowds  of  base 
miscreants  to  revile  me  !  ...  Shall  Sidmouth  then 
never  again  hear  of  his  Power  of  Imprisonment  Bill, 
his  Circular,  his  Letter  of  Thanks  to  the  Man- 
chester Yeomanry  ?  I  really  jumped  up  when  the 
thought  came  across  my  mind,  and  without  thinking 
of  breakfast,  said,  '  Go,  George,  saddle  the  horses/ 
for  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  been  meditating  some 
crime  ! " 

Selborne  to-day  is  little  changed  since  Cobbett  visited 
it  after  a  reader  of  his  paper  had  sent  him  White's 
book  ;  and  the  village  itself  can  scarcely  have  altered 
since  White  wrote,  except  that  his  house  has  been 
enlarged,  and  there  is  a  new  rectory.  To  a  visitor  the 
first  impressions  of  the  village  are  perhaps  disappoint- 
ing, though  the  lofty  beech-covered  hill  above  it,  and 


SELBORNE  AND    WOLMER  FOREST          85 

the  romantic  glen  called  the  Leith,  below  the  church, 
bear  out  all  that  has  been  written  of  them.  The  one 
striking  feature  of  the  place  is  the  position  of  the 
church,  on  a  promontory  jutting  out  into  this  Leith 
valley,  looking  from  which  the  square  tower  stands 
like  some  small  fortress  closing  the  steep  and  narrow 
glen,  backed  by  the  great  beech-wood  of  Selborne  Hill. 
The  ancient  yew-tree  in  the  churchyard  still  flourishes, 
and  the  interior  of  the  church,  with  its  double  row  of 
massive  pillars,  has  all  the  dignity  which  Norman  or 
very  Early  English  architects  knew  how  to  give  to 
buildings,  however  small,  and  the  monuments  and 
fabric  show  every  sign  of  decent  and  reverent  care. 
Still,  the  features  of  Selborne  itself  are  hardly  such  as 
might  be  expected  to  inspire  a  classic. 

Wolmer  forest,  on  the  other  hand,  three- fifths  of 
which  lie  in  the  parish  of  Selborne,  is  a  strangely 
fascinating  region,  containing  some  of  the  wildest 
scenery  of  the  South,  full  of  strange  birds  and  rare 
plants  and  insects,  and  improved,  rather  than  lessened, 
in  natural  beauty,  since  it  afforded  White  "  much 
entertainment  both  as  a  sportsman  and  a  naturalist." 
In  his  day  it  "  consisted  entirely  of  sand  covered  with 
heath  and  fern,  without  having  one  standing  tree  in  its 
whole  extent,"  but  was  studded  with  large  meres  and 
marshes.  Now  the  waters  have  shrunk  ;  but  much  of 
the  forest  is  covered  with  plantations  of  pine,  and  even 
of  oak.  The  fir-plantations  were  made  by  Cobbett's 
enemy,  "  the  smooth  Mr.  Huskisson,"  and  formed  the 
text  for  a  ferocious  attack  on  him  as  Commissioner  of 


86         THE  PINE  AND  HEATHER   COUNTRY 

Woods  and  Forests  ;  but  though  the  price  now  fetched 
by  the  wood  bears  out  the  economical  side  of  Cobbett's 
criticism,  the  trees  add  much  to  the  beauty  and  char- 
acter of  the  forest.  "  This  lonely  domain,"  says  Gil- 
bert White,  "  is  an  agreeable  haunt  for  many  sorts  of 
wild  fowls,  which  not  only  frequent  it  in  winter,  but 
breed  there  in  summer, — such  as  lapwings,  snipes,  wild 
ducks,  and,  as  I  have  discovered  within  these  last  few 
years,  teals."  During  a  spring  walk  in  the  forest, 
it  was  the  writer's  fortune  to  find  the  nest  of  every 
bird  which  White  mentions  as  breeding  there,  except 
that  of  the  black  grouse,  which,  though  introduced  for 
a  time,  has  become  nearly  as  rare  as  in  his  days.  At 
the  northern  end  of  the  forest,  near  Walldon  Hill,  is  a 
marsh,  not  a  mere  swamp  in  the  peats,  but  such  a 
marsh  as  hunted  outlaws  may  have  sheltered  in,  over 
which  the  flame  of  the  will-o'-the-wisp  may  still  dance 
on  summer  nights  ;  a  wide  sheet  of  black  water,  with 
dead  white  limbs  of  drowned  trees  standing  out  from 
it,  and  winding  labyrinths  of  dwarf  alders  covered  with 
wet  mosses  and  hanging  lichens,  and  mats  of  bright 
green  grass  so  firmly  tangled  that  a  boy  can  walk 
on  them,  and  outside  these  quaking  platforms  thick 
beds  of  reed.  This  is  the  home  and  nursery  of  the 
wild  fowl  of  the  forest,  where  duck  and  teal,  dabchicks 
and  water-hens,  bring  up  their  young  broods  till  the 
helpless  time  of  flapperhood  is  over.  But  the  ducks 
and  teal  do  not  nest  in  the  marsh  ;  and  we  found 
White's  observations  exactly  true,  the  teals  nesting  at  a 
considerable  distance  from  the  water,  and  the  wild 


SELBORNE  AND    WOLMER^  FOREST  87 

ducks  in  some  of  the  furthest  and  driest  parts  of  the 
forest.  About  a  hundred  yards  from  the  marsh  was 
a  teal's  nest.  She  had  hatched  her  young  the  day 
before,  but  two  eggs  remained,  of  a  pale  ivory  colour, 
and  the  nest,  which  was  placed  in  deep  heather  under 
a  seedling  fir,  was  beautifully  made  of  moss  and 
speckled  down  from  the  bird's  breast,  which  exactly 
matched  in  colour  the  lichen-covered  heather.  Had 
we  risen  at  daybreak,  we  might  perhaps  have  met  the 
bird  taking  her  tiny  brood  down  to  the  water.  A 
wild  duck's  nest  was  found  on  a  steep,  heather-clad 
hill,  quite  a  mile  from  the  water.  There  are  few 
more  difficult  nests  to  find  than  that  of  a  wild  duck 
on  a  heath.  But  in  this  case  a  single  breast-feather 
gave  the  clue  needed,  and  after  careful  search  a  track 
was  found  winding  among  the  heather-stems  to  a  thick 
patch  under  the  overhanging  boughs  of  a  young  pine, 
beneath  which  was  the  nest.  The  eggs  had  been 
hatched  for  some  time,  and  all  the  broken  shells  were 
buried  beneath  a  layer  of  down.  In  a  wet  hollow  near 
the  outskirts  of  the  forest  was  a  snipe's  nest.  These 
birds  are  far  less  common  there  than  formerly,  owing, 
it  is  said,  to  the  turf  being  no  longer  cut  for  fuel,  so 
that  there  is  less  fresh  ground  exposed  for  them  to  feed 
upon.  The  nest  was  simply  a  round  hollow  in  a  wet 
tussock  ;  but  when  their  brood  is  hatched,  the  snipes 
are  said  to  be  most  affectionate  parents.  This  par- 
ticular pair  are  said  to  have  nested  in  the  same  place 
last  year.  Some  men  employed  to  dig  sand  close  by 
were  surprised  to  see  a  snipe  fly  up,  which,  after  show- 


88         THE  PINE  AND  HEATHER    COUNTRY 

ing  great  unwillingness  to  quit  the  spot,  perched  on  a 
rail  about  four  yards  off — a  most  unusual  thing  for  a 
snipe  to  do — and  remained  watching  them.  Soon 
after,  they  discovered  at  the  bottom  of  the  pit  four 
very  young  snipes  lying  together,  which  they  took  up 
and  laid  upon  the  level  ground,  whence  they  were 
soon  called  away  by  the  mother-bird  into  the  rough 
grass  near. 

Plovers  nest  on  the  swamps  and  rough  hill-sides  ; 
and  there  are  a  fair  number  of  wild  pheasants  and 
partridges  on  the  sides  of  the  forest.  Squirrels  swarm 
in  the  pine-trees,  and  live  on  the  seeds  of  the  cones. 
But  perhaps  the  most  interesting  colony  in  the  forest  is 
the  heronry.  Perhaps  this  is  a  recent  settlement,  for 
Gilbert  White  does  not  speak  of  it.  The  nests  are  in 
a  plantation  of  tall  pines  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
forest,  where  one  or  two  small  brooks,  deeply  tinged 
with  iron  deposits,  flow  through  the  wood.  The  trees 
are  so  tall  as  to  be  inaccessible  to  the  climber  ;  and  as 
the  great  birds  launch  themselves  from  their  nests,  and 
sail  round  with  harsh  cries  above  the  tree-tops,  the 
visitor  might  well  imagine  himself  back  in  some  bygone 
forest  era.  The  trees  on  which  the  nests  are  placed 
are  covered  by  a  thick  green  lichen,  and  are  readily 
distinguished  from  the  rest.  One  rare  bird,  the  Dart- 
ford  Warbler,  which  haunts  the  forest,  has  been  almost 
destroyed  by  the  recent  severe  winters  ;  and  great 
numbers  of  woodpeckers  have  also  died.  But  in  the 
ring  of  lofty  firs  which  caps  the  hill  above  the  pool  of 
Holly-water,  there  are  a  number  of  their  nests,  or 


SELBORNE  AND    WOLMER  FOREST  89 

rather  the  holes  drilled  in  successive  years  for  their 
nests,  by  the  pairs  which  annually  breed  in  this 
favourite  spot.  One  of  them  had  been  robbed  by  the 
squirrels,  which  had  sucked  the  eggs  and  flung  the 
shells  upon  the  ground.  Higher  up  in  the  firs  were 
the  nests  of  carrion  crows  and  hawks,  robber  birds 
which  haunt  this  lofty  eyrie,  and,  soaring  round  the 
hill,  or  perched  upon  the  dead  branches  of  the  trees, 
keep  a  watchful  eye  upon  the  forest  for  miles  around. 

Wolmer  forest  is  a  good  instance  of  a  Government 
property  managed  with  good  taste  and  good  sense. 
The  forest  fires,  of  which  Gilbert  White  speaks,  are 
now  kept  in  check  so  far  as  the  limited  number  of 
warders  available  can  do  so,  and  the  wild  life  of  the 
district  is  just  apparently  preserved  to  give  that 
additional  interest  to  woodland  scenery,  from  the 
absence  of  which  the  forests  of  France  suffer  so 
greatly.  If  the  origin  of  the  sentiment  which  preserves 
these  creatures  were  sought,  it  would  probably  be 
found  in  the  writings  of  Gilbert  White  of  Selborne. 


SURREY    SCENES 


THE    SURREY    PONDS 

POOLS  and  still  waters  are  as  characteristic  of  the 
country  in  which  they  lie  as  rivers  and  running  brooks. 
The  beauties  of  a  Highland  tarn  and  a  Norfolk  broad 
are  as  separate  and  appropriate  to  their  own  surround- 
ings as  the  rushing  moorland  stream,  and  the  level 
and  tranquil  windings  of  the  Waveney  or  the  Yare. 
Even  the  clay-embedded  water-holes  of  the  Suffolk 
farms,  surrounded  by  their  ragged  clumps  of  thorns, 
and  peopled  by  ancient  carp  which  burrow  in  the 
mud  in  winter,  and  welter  in  the  thick  and  tepid 
waters  in  the  summer  droughts,  have  a  certain 
interest  native  to  the  soil  ;  and  the  moats  of  the 
decayed  manor-houses,  where  rich  franklins  once  kept 
their  "bream  and  luce  in  stew,"  are  still  haunted  by 
traditions  of  monster  pike,  the  pets  and  familiar  friends 
of  past  tenants  of  the  farms.  Among  the  bright 
heaths  and  moorlands  of  Surrey,  and  the  adjacent 
corners  of  Hampshire  and  Sussex  which  meet  near 


THE   SURREY  PONDS  91 

the  sources  of  the  Rother,  the  Wey,  and  the  Dead- 
water,  the  "ponds"  are  perhaps  the  most  beautiful 
and  interesting  features  of  the  loveliest  country  within 
an  hour  of  London.  A  glance  at  the  map  will  show 
a  hundred  of  these  pools,  some  among  the  dry  heaths 
on  an  impervious  ironstone  bottom,  and  often  reaching 
the  dimensions  of  small  lakes,  like  Frensham  pond, 
the  Fleet,  or  Broadwater,  near  Godalming  ;  others, 
perhaps  the  richest  of  all  in  bird  and  fish  life,  in  such 
valleys  as  Chilworth,  or  the  marshy  meadows  of  the 
lower  Wey.  But  the  most  picturesque,  and  perhaps 
the  least  known,  are  the  long  chains  of  pools  which 
lie  back  among  the  hills.  In  the  rich  profusion  of 
soils  at  the  roots  of  the  Hind  Head,  where  hops  and 
heather  jostle,  and  the  full-fed  oak  kisses  the  starveling 
pine,  the  head-waters  of  rivers  gather  in  these  ponds. 
Like  the  Spider  Mountains  of  Argos,  the  hills  spread 
their  web  where  the  three  counties  meet,  and  between 
their  strands  lie  the  lines  of  upland  pools.  Follow 
any  of  the  hollows  in  the  dry  moor  downwards,  and  the 
signs  of  subterranean  waters  are  apparent.  Oaks  min- 
gle with  the  pines,  and  the  rabbit-turf  grows  greener 
and  more  compact.  Loam  takes  the  place  of  peat 
and  sand  in  the  banks,  and  beech  and  alder  spring  up 
in  the  hollows.  Yet  even  there  you  may  stand  within 
a  few  minutes'  walk  of  a  chain  of  small  lakes  stretch- 
ing for  miles  into  the  hill,  and  not  know  in  which 
direction  to  seek  them.  The  sound  of  falling  water, 
the  scent  of  wood  and  peat  smoke  curling  up  from 
a  cottage  chimney  into  which  it  seemed  easy  to  drop 


92  SURREY  SCENES 

a  pebble,  and  the  gleam  of  a  pool  seen  forty  feet 
below,  were  the  first  evidence  to  the  writer  that 
he  had  chanced  on  one  of  the  beautiful  chains  of 
ponds  which  form  the  sources  of  the  river  Wey. 
Narrow  peninsulas  of  sound  turf  jut  out  from  either 
side  of  the  glen,  washed  by  the  streamlet  whose  ripple 
was  heard  above.  On  one  of  these  stands  the  game- 
keeper's cottage,  and  below  it  lies  the  pool.  Trout, 
and  not  game,  are  the  main  objects  of  the  keeper's 
care,  and  a  jay  sat  flirting  its  tail  and  screaming  its 
double  note  on  a  pine  just  opposite  the  house.  The 
pool  itself  was  a  type  of  hundreds  among  the  Surrey 
coombs.  The  streamlet,  which  enters  at  the  head, 
runs  straight  and  deep  for  a  few  yards  with  a  rapid 
current.  Feathery  swamp-grass,  tall  skeletons  of 
thistles  and  of  willow-herb,  and  clusters  of  bright- 
green  rushes,  half-smothered  in  a  russet  snow  of  oak- 
leaves,  fringe  the  banks ;  and  where  the  morning 
sun  falls,  blunt-toothed  fronds  of  oak-fern  and  young 
hollies  sprout.  Then  the  stream  forks,  and  a  miniature 
delta  forms,  covered  with  a  tall  growth  of  bulrushes. 
Below  the  delta  stretches  the  broad,  dark  pool  ;  pure, 
clear,  and  shallow,  with  sandy  bottom  strewn  with 
fallen  leaves,  and  hungry  trout  cruising  up  and  down 
in  the  water  made  clear  as  crystal  by  a  touch  of 
November  frost.  Grey-stemmed,  yellow-leaved,  twisted 
oak,  and  dark  and  shining  hollies  fringe  the  sunny 
side,  and  on  the  shaded  bank  a  line  of  weeping- 
birches  dips  into  the  pool.  All  is  bright,  clear,  and 
clean,  void  of  clay  or  mud  or  rottenness  ;  even  the 


THE   SURREY  PONDS  93 

dam  at  the  lower  end  is  built  of  crumbling,  sandy 
loam,  laced  and  bound  together  by  the  roots  of  oaks. 
The  low  November  sun  looks  over  the  steep  bank 
and  beats  into  the  sheltered  coomb  with  a  warmth 
that  can  be  felt,  though  the  opposite  bank  lies  cold 
in  deep  shadow,  with  streaks  of  hoar-frost  lingering 
beneath  the  birches.  In  front,  the  slender  sparkling 
stream,  so  shallow  that  it  must  needs  divide  to  run 
round  tiny  islands  of  gravel  and  jungles  of  cresses, 
meets  again,  and  slips  smoothly  under  a  foot-wide 
plank,  through  the  loam-bank,  and  into  the  pool 
below. 

The  keeper,  tempted  to  linger  and  chat  by  the 
warmth  and  beauty  of  the  day,  explained  the  new  and 
sensible  trout-culture  which  now  stocks  the  pools  with 
thousands  of  dainty  fish,  in  place  of  the  chance  supply 
of  coarse  jack  and  odious  wriggling  eels  which  were 
once  their  main  inhabitants.  In  the  warm  days  of 
spring,  thousands  of  troutlets,  about  one-and-a-half 
inches  long,  bright,  silvery  little  fish,  with  scarlet  spots 
upon  their  sides,  are  caught  in  the  narrow  runnels  of 
the  water-meadows  between  the  ponds,  and  placed  in 
a  long  wooden  cistern,  through  which  a  constant  stream 
flows.  The  water  is  then  drawn  off  from  the  pool 
below  the  keeper 's  cottage,  and  all  the  larger  trout  are 
removed  to  the  other  ponds  in  the  chain.  The  sluice 
is  closed,  the  pool  fills,  and  the  young  fish  are  let  loose, 
secured  against  all  attack  except  the  nightly  visits  of 
marauding  herons  from  Stag's  Wood,  in  Wolmer 
Forest.  In  eighteen  months  the  water  is  once  more 


94  SURREY  SCENES 

run  off,  and  the  troutlets,  grown  into  half-pound  trout, 
are  transported  to  the  deep  waters  of  the  larger  pools. 
These  are  divided  from  the  breeding-pond  by  a 
"  bottom,"  or  a  moist,  green,  squashy  river  of  short 
grass,  haunted  by  blackbirds,  in  which  the  stream  is 
hardly  visible,  and  often  disappears  below  the  surface, 
or  is  distributed  among  narrow  strips  of  water-meadow. 
In  the  river-valleys  of  the  lower  ground,  these 
"  bottoms  "  are  deep  and  oozy  swamps,  where  red  mud 
and  slime  stand  and  stink  among  the  alder-stumps,  and 
"  quakes,"  or  reedy  jungles,  spread  in  the  open  ground. 
The  contrast  between  the  sunny  and  the  sunless  bank 
remains:  the  latter  dark,  smooth,  and  steep,  with  a 
regular  growth  of  birch,  the  former  rugged  and  broken, 
studded  with  contorted  oaks  and  ancient  hollies.  Flat- 
roofed  caves  lie  under  the  oak-roots,  in  which  sand  is 
for  ever  dropping  from  roof  to  floor,  like  the  dribble 
of  the  hour-glass  ;  even  the  wren  hopping  and  singing 
from  root  to  root  beneath  the  cave  dislodges  tiny 
avalanches  of  sand.  Under  a  hazel -bush  lay  a  pool  in 
miniature, — an  everlasting  spring,  fresh  from  the  hidden 
cisterns  of  the  hill.  True  springs  like  this  are  the 
nearest  approach  in  rural  England  to  the  little 
"fountains"  gushing  from  the  rock,  so  dear  to  the 
poets  of  old  Greece  and  Italy.  The  smallest  of  the 
"  Waggoners'  Wells  "  l — for  these,  like  all  ponds  and 
pools,  however  remote,  have  their  distinguishing  name 
— could  scarcely  claim  Horace's  sacrifice  of  a  kid  ;  but 

1  Part  of  this  chain  of  pools  lies  within  the  Hampshire  border. 


THE   SURREY  PONDS  95 

its  tiny  basin,  scarcely  a  yard  across,  shows  in  miniature 
all  the  beauties  of  the  larger  pools.  Ferns  dip  into 
its  surface  from  the  bank  behind,  thick  mosses  clothe 
its  stones,  and  the  crystal  waters  swell  outwards  in 
gently  widening  rings  from  some  slow-throbbing 
invisible  centre,  where  an  unseen  force  is  gradually 
raising  tiny  grains  of  brown  rock,  which  linger  and 
hang  poised  as  if  caught  in  water -cob  webs,  or  wander 
downwards,  hesitating  and  reluctant,  to  the  leafy 
bottom  of  the  spring.  A  culvert  of  oak-logs  leads  this 
youngest  mother  of  rivers  to  the  central  stream. 
Beyond  the  spring  the  banks  of  the  coomb  once  more 
contract,  and  become  lofty  and  precipitous.  There, 
overhung  by  oaks  and  drooping  pines,  which  jut  from 
the  high  banks,  sleeps  a  larger,  blacker  pool,  deep  and 
narrow,  dammed  at  the  lower  end  by  a  thick  dyke  over 
which  the  water  rushes  in  cascades  at  either  end.  The  . 
pond  covers  a  space  of  three  or  four  acres,  deep,  and 
full  of  large  trout,  which  are  fed  not  from  the  clear 
waters  and  clean-cut  banks  of  the  mere,  but  by  the 
vast  quantities  of  insects  carried  down  from  the  water- 
meadows  above.  At  the  coomb's  head  lies  the  queen 
of  the  line  of  pools — a  straight  and  beautiful  mere, 
two  hundred  yards  long  and  a  hundred  wide.  At  its 
head  is  a  lofty  heath-clad  hill,  topped  with  a  mass  of 
upright  pines,  whose  grey  stems  stand  like  rows  of 
columns  supporting  the  peaked  foliage  of  their  crests. 
On  either  side,  black  alders  and  the  grey  stems  and 
ruddy  leaves  of  oaks  break  the  straight  line  of  the 
water,  and  dip  their  branches  in  the  mere.  On  the 


96  SURREY  SCENES 

right  lie  sound  lawns,  cropped  by  cattle  hung  with 
tinkling  bells  ;  and  at  the  lake's  head  a  narrow  bed  of 
sedges  harbours  the  few  water-fowl  which  haunt  the 
pool.  Above,  in  the  heart  of  the  pine-woods,  are 
tiny  rills  and  basins,  into  which  the  trout  ascend  to 
spawn.  Few  cottages  and  fewer  farms  lie  by  these 
upland  pools.  Wood  is  the  only  crop,  which  needs  a 
seven- years'  season  to  mature,  and  no  man  to  till  the 
soil.  Bad  times  and  wet  harvests  do  not  touch  the 
Surrey  woods,  or  make  the  forester's  or  keeper's  roof- 
tree  cold.  "  Lonely  ?  No,  never,"  is  the  keeper's 
answer  to  our  inquiry.  "  It's  a  deal  lonelier  in  the 
woods  ;  and  what  do  I  want  with  people  ?  I  want 
things  quiet,  and  home  is  good  enough  for  me  when  I 
come  back."  He,  his  wife,  and  children  are  almost  as 
dependent  on  the  "  ponds "  as  the  wild-fowl  and  the 
trout.  The  stream  waters  their  meadow,  fills  their 
cress-bed,  gives  them  perch  and  trout,  seasons  their 
withy-baskets,  brews  their  tea  and  beer,  and,  in  winter, 
supplies  stray  wild-duck  and  teal,  shot  in  the  grey 
dawn,  and  woodcocks  snared  in  the  "  bottoms."  The 
keeper  would  not  take  the  warmest  lodge  in  a  lowland 
park  in  exchange  for  his  cottage  by  the  upland  pond. 


97 


TROUT-BREEDING 

IT  is  now  fifteen  years  since  Frank  Buckland 
bequeathed  his  museum  of  pisciculture  to  the  nation. 
In  connection  with  the  question  of  re-stocking  trout 
ponds,  by  other  methods  than  those  described  in 
the  previous  chapter,  it  is  worth  inquiring  what  results 
have  accrued  from  Frank  Buckland's  legacy  of  his 
museum  of  pisciculture  to  the  nation.  Those  who 
regard  the  younger  Buckland  as  something  more  than 
an  agreeable  writer  on  the  curiosities  of  animal  life, 
will  be  curious  to  know  whether,  in  the  period  that 
has  elapsed  since  his  death,  the  cause  which  he  had 
most  at  heart  has  made  any  real  and  effective  progress. 
Fish-culture,  in  the  sense  not  only  of  breeding  fish 
from  the  ova,  but  of  their  protection,  encouragement, 
and  profitable  maintenance  in  the  running  streams  and 
lakes  of  England,  was  the  serious  object  of  Buckland's 
later  years.  In  its  advocacy,  he  was  at  once  enthusi- 
astic and  practical,  and  so  much  before  his  time  in 
the  views  he  held  as  to  the  desirability  of  rescuing 
from  neglect  the  productive  forces  of  the  water  at 
a  time  when  no  expense  or  trouble  was  spared  on 


H 


98  SURREY  SCENES 

improving  those  of  the  land,  that  he  had  to  create  a 
body  of  opinion  in  his  favour.  In  this  he  partially 
succeeded,  mainly  by  his  personal  charm  and  the 
readiness  of  his  pen.  When  he  died  he  left  a  number 
of  reports  bearing  out  the  old  proverb  that  an  acre 
of  water  yields  more  than  three  acres  of  land,  and  a 
museum  of  objects  connected  with  the  industry  of 
fish-farming  as  he  conceived  it  might  be  developed, 
which  he  bequeathed  to  the  South  Kensington  Museum. 
Had  this  been  the  gift  of  any  one  else  less  in  earnest 
on  his  subject  than  Buckland,  it  might  have  been 
liable  to  suspicion  as  an  attempt  to  secure  posthumous 
interest  in  a  hobby.  But  the  Buckland  collection 
speaks  for  itself.  It  is  the  best  rough-and-ready  adver- 
tisement and  propaganda  of  fish-farming  existing  in 
London.  Great  part  of  the  collection  consists  of  casts 
of  fish  made  and  painted  from  life  by  Buckland 
himself.  His  object  in  leaving  them  for  public 
exhibition  was  to  show  the  size  and  beauty  of  the 
creatures  which  could  be  grown  in  our  neglected 
rivers  and  pools.  Each  cast  is  labelled  in  Buckland's 
bold  handwriting  not  only  with  the  weight  of  the 
fish,  but  the  river,  and  sometimes  the  very  pool  or 
reach  in  which  it  was  taken.  The  common  brown 
trout  alone  ought  to  raise  the  envy  of  every  owner 
or  renter  of  a  stream  or  spring,  however  small,  for 
every  tiny  rill  can  be  made  into  a  pool  capable  of 
fattening  trout.  There  is  a  brown  trout  of  13^  Ibs. 
from  Britford,  near  Salisbury ;  another  of  14  Ibs. 
from  Alresford,  in  Hampshire.  What  Buckland 


TROUT-BREEDING  99 

intended  to  convey  by  their  exhibition  was  probably 
something  of  this  kind.  "  These  common  trout, 
taken  from  the  Avon  and  the  Test,  are  far  larger 
than  any  wild  edible  creature  produced  by  the  manors 
through  which  those  rivers  run.  A  14-lb.  trout 
weighs  as  much  as  seven  pheasants,  fourteen  part- 
ridges, five  rabbits,  or  two  hares,  it  is  not  less 
beautiful  than  the  pheasant,  and  weight  for  weight, 
contains  more  food  than  any  game  bird  or  animal, 
all  of  which  it  equals  or  surpasses  in  flavour.  Any 
stream  with  feeders  coming  from  sand  or  chalk-hills 
will  grow  trout  ;  why  do  the  greater  number  produce 
few  or  none  ? "  Trout  are  not  the  only  fish  neglected. 
Here  is  a  y-lb.  silver  eel,  one  of  the  best  of  river 
fish,  from  the  humble  little  river  Mole.  Carp,  the 
common  fish  of  German  ponds,  are  almost  unknown 
on  the  country  dinner-table  in  England.  Readers 
of  Carlyle's  Frederick  the  Great  will  remember  that 
the  carp-ponds,  with  the  waters  run  off,  and  a  crop 
of  rye  growing  in  the  mud  for  the  fish  to  feed  on 
later  in  the  year,  almost  stopped  the  advance  of 
Frederick's  left  wing  and  artillery  of  the  Prussian 
army  at  the  battle  of  Prague.  As  specimens  of  pond 
carp,  Buckland  left  casts  of  two — one  from  Berlin 
of  27  Ibs.  weight,  with  scales  as  large  as  half-crowns, 
and  one  of  the  same  size  from  Haarlem  Mere.  These 
round,  blunt-nosed  fish  look  like  water-pigs,  and  are 
of  about  the  weight  and  shape  of  a  three-months'- 
old  porker,  minus  the  legs.  They  are  mainly  vege- 
table-feeders, and  would  thrive  in  most  still  ponds 


ioo  SURREY  SCENES 

where  water-weeds  abound.  The  cause  of  the 
migratory  salmon  and  salmonoids,  the  true  salmon 
and  the  bull-trout,  may  be  said  to  have  been  prac- 
tically won  since  Buckland  first  spoke  in  their  defence  ; 
and  the  question  of  the  hour  is  not  whether  salmon 
shall  be  protected  or  neglected,  but  whether  the 
salmon-fishery  is  of  sufficient  value  to  cover  the  cost 
of  rescuing  rivers  from  pollution  by  factories.  "  Ob- 
structions "  such  as  mills  and  weirs  were  the  obstacles 
to  whose  removal  or  remedy  Buckland  more  immedi- 
ately addressed  his  attention.  His  casts  of  salmon 
smashed  by  mill-wheels,  of  spawning  salmon  seized 
at  Billingsgate,  with  wounds  made  by  poachers'  gaffs 
and  hooks,  his  models  of  salmon-ladders,  and  pro- 
tective grating  and  guards  for  mill-heads  and  water- 
wheels,  at  South  Kensington,  are  reminders  of  the 
danger  of  neglect  in  this  direction  ;  and  his  cast 
of  the  yo-lb.  Tay  salmon  is  left  as  a  perpetual 
record  of  the  return  which  a  protected  fishery  may 
make. 

Beautiful  as  the  salmon  are,  they  hardly  come  within 
the  scope  of  practical  fish-culture,  except  for  the  export 
of  the  eggs  to  the  Colonies.  The  number  of  salmon- 
rivers  is  limited,  and  cannot  well  be  increased.  More- 
over, the  supply  of  foreign  salmon  is  so  large  that  the 
increase  of  the  English  stock  could  hardly  affect  the 
price.  But  trout,  which  can  be  reared  in  every  one  of 
the  home  and  southern  counties,  are  far  rarer  than 
salmon.  They  are  hardly  obtainable  at  the  greater 
number  of  London  fishmongers.  Grilled  trout  makes 


TROUT-BREEDING  101 

probably  the  best  dish  for  breakfast  obtainable  in 
England,  as  good  as  the  monster  prawns  caught  in  the 
harbour  of  Rio  Janeiro.  Yet,  on  how  many  tables 
does  it  appear  ?  Even  at  City  dinners,  where  truite  au 
bleu  is  often  a  part  of  the  menu,  the  trout  is  more  often 
than  not  a  sea-trout,  which  lacks  the  distinctive  flavour 
of  the  good  brown-trout  of  the  inland  waters.  In 
showing  how  the  supply  of  brown- trout  for  stocking 
newly-made  pools  or  existing  but  neglected  streams 
could  be  raised  beyond  the  limits  of  any  possible 
demand  by  the  artificial  cultivation  of  the  eggs  in 
properly  made  hatching-places,  Buckland  completed  the 
practical  work  of  his  life.  His  small  hatching-pools, 
down  which  the  water  trickles  from  shelf  to  shelf,  are 
still  in  use  at  South  Kensington,  and  the  young 
American  brook-trout,  hatched  last  year  and  the  year 
before,  are  swimming  in  the  tanks  provided  for  them. 

The  Buckland  Museum  marks  the  point  at  which 
the  industry  of  fish-farming  had  arrived  fifteen  years 
ago, — one  hardly  beyond  the  stage  of  suggestion.  The 
degree  in  which  its  teaching  has  fulfilled  the  purpose  of 
its  founder  is  perhaps  best  shown  by  the  account  of  the 
great  trout-breeding  establishment  of  the  late  Mr. 
Andrews  at  Crichmere  and  Guildford,  contributed  to 
the  Field  of  January  19  by  the  well-known  writer  who 
takes  the  pseudonym  of  "  Red  Spinner."  Mr.  Andrews, 
like  Frank  Buckland,  owed  his  death  in  some  measure 
to  a  chill  caught  while  superintending  the  work  of 
spawning  fish  in  winter.  By  education  and  profession 
he  was  a  musician,  and  retained  to  the  last  the  post  of 


102  SURREY  SCENES 

organist  at  St.  Mary's  Church  at  Guildfbrd.  But  he 
early  caught  the  enthusiasm  for  the  new  industry  of 
which  Buckland  laid  the  foundations,  and  for  many 
years  was  able,  during  the  spawning  season,  to  furnish 
trout  eggs  at  the  rate  of  a  quarter  of  a  million  a  day, 
for  private  fisheries  and  exportation.  When  he  first 
began,  the  site  of  the  Crichmere  ponds  was  a  water- 
meadow,  with  a  few  cress-beds  in  it.  "  When  I  first 
went  to  Crichmere,"  writes  a  correspondent  of  the 
Field,  "there  were  eighteen  ponds,  and  the  last  time 
I  found  them  increased  to  thirty-five  in  the  Crichmere 
meadows,  besides  pools  and  falls.  Since  then  ten  acres 
of  additional  land  has  been  included,  and  a  number  of 
narrow  ponds  created.  Very  proud,  too,  was  Andrews 
of  his  pet  stud  fish,  magnificent  specimens  of  fontinalis, 
fario,  and  Levens.  They  were  fed  with  chopped  meat 
for  the  amusement  of  visitors,  and  special  friends  were 
allowed  the  pleasure  of  casting  for  and  landing  one  or 
two  with  a  huge  hackled  fly,  from  which  the  barb  of 
the  hook  had  been  filed.  Except  in  Tasmania  or  New 
Zealand,  it  is  only  here  that  I  ever  fly-fished  for  and 
caught  trout  in  January.  The  fontinalis  would  at  first 
come  boldly  at  the  fly,  and  as  the  fish  fought  in  the 
clear  water  their  lovely  colourings  flashed  there, — deep 
orange,  silver-white  bars  to  the  fins,  ruby  spots  set  in 
turquoise,  and  perfect  mottling  on  the  back.  There 
were  over  three  thousand  breeding  females  in  the  ponds, 
ranging  from  i  Ib.  to  5  Ibs.  in  weight.  The  extraor- 
dinary size  of  the  Crichmere  yearlings  has  no  doubt 
been  due  to  the  rich  natural  food  in  the  ponds.  The 


TROUT-BREEDING  103 

eggs  sent  away  every  year  are  numbered  by  millions  ; 
there  were  orders  on  the  books  for  all  the  Colonies  and 
various  parts  of  the  Continent,  and  to  execute  them  all 
the  spawning  has  to  be  cunningly  regulated,  so  that 
some  of  the  ova  may  hatch  out  as  late  as  April.  In 
one  year,  I  know,  eggs  were  taken  from  one  hundred 
females  as  late  as  March  24th.  It  demands  the  best  of 
management  to  keep  the  proper  balance  of  yearlings 
and  two-years-old  in  stock,  and  the  secret  of  the  high 
reputation  of  the  Guildford  Hatchery  must  be  sought 
in  the  extraordinary  character  of  the  yearlings.  These 
always  vary  considerably  in  size,  and  occur  from  2 Jin. 
to  7  in.  or  even  8  in.  Marked  results  were  achieved  in 
hybridizing  at  Crichmere,  and  for  years  the  ponds 
containing  the  hybrids  have  been  one  of  the  most 
interesting  features  of  the  Hatchery."  The  demand 
for  the  young  trout  has  risen  from  the  growing  recog- 
nition by  the  owners  of  country-houses  that  trout-pools 
are  both  useful  and  ornamental  additions  to  their 
gardens  and  grounds,  and  not  less  interesting  than  the 
poultry-run  or  the  pheasantry.  The  successful  making 
and  management  of  a  trout  farm  is  a  branch  of  rural 
engineering  and  economy  which,  though  forgotten  for 
three  centuries  and  a  half,  is  now  better  understood 
than  it  was  in  pre-Reformation  times,  when  it  was  the 
common  annex  of  every  manor-house  ;  and  the  credit 
of  its  revival  is  due  to  Frank  Buckland. 


IO4 


THE   NIGHTINGALE   VALLEY 

BY  the  first  day  of  May,  through  all  Western 
Europe  and  Asia  Minor,  from  the  groves  of  "  old 
Colonus  "  and  the  temples  of  Baal-bee,  to  the  valleys 
of  Andalusia  and  the  coombs  of  the  Surrey  hills,  the 
nightingales  are  in  song,  awakening,  as  they  have  for  a 
thousand  summers,  the  fancies  of  dreaming  poets  and 
the  delight  of  the  least  imaginative  of  mankind.  The 
poets  of  old  set  their  own  interpretation  on  the  song 
of  the  nightingale.  To  them  it  was  ever  the  voice  of 
lamentation  and  mourning  ;  Philomel  weeps  for  Itys, 
and  never  varies  the  refrain.  Modern  fancy  is  truer  to 
the  facts  of  Nature  To  us,  as  to  Keats,  the  nightingale 

is  the 

"  Light-winged  Dryad  of  the  trees, 
In  some  melodious  plot 
Of  beechen  green,  and  shadows  numberless, 
Singing  of  summer  in  full-throated  ease." 

In  a  side-glen  of  the  Surrey  hills,  running  down  to 
the  deep  stream  of  the  River  Wey,  lies  the  Nightingale 
Valley.  Two  tiny  streams  cut  their  way  down  the 
steep  and  sandy  hills,  and  unite  in  a  pool  which  almost 
fills  the  bottom  of  the  hollow.  The  granary  and 


THE  NIGHTINGALE    VALLEY  105 

buildings  of  a  solitary  farm  rise  almost  on  the  margin 
of  the  pool,  and  give  back  an  echo  which  the  night- 
ingales in  the  copses  and  thickets  on  the  hillsides,  and 
in  the  May-trees  which  overhang  the  water,  never 
weary  of  answering.  There  are  few  villages  without 
some  garden  or  coppice  in  which  the  nightingale  may 
not  be  heard  in  those  counties  which  it  visits  ;  but 
this  particular  spot  has  always  seemed  to  the  writer  its 
most  favoured  and  best-loved  home.  The  copses  are 
full  of  the  birds,  and  in  the  still  nights  a  score  of 
voices  may  be  heard,  first  completing  the  full  chorus 
of  their  song,  then  silent  and  listening  for  a  moment, 
until  the  echo  repeats  the  last  notes,  when  its  challenge 
is  answered  by  a  rush  of  tumultuous  melody.  Probably 
the  faintness  of  the  echo's  refrain  leads  them  to  suppose 
that  it  is  the  song  of  a  bird  in  some  distant  grove,  and 
engages  the  nightingales  in  common  chorus  against 
their  unknown  rival. 

The  cock-birds  usually  arrive  in  the  valley  at  the 
end  of  the  second  week  in  April,  and  spend  at  least  a 
week  in  practising  and  recalling  their  song.  At  such 
times  they  are  extremely  tame,  and  the  writer  has  often 
watched  from  a  few  yards'  distance  the  singers,  who 
show  far  less  nervousness  in  practising  before  a  stranger 
than  is  often  observed  in  human  vocalists.  The  first 
long-drawn  notes  are  commonly  run  through  without 
difficulty,  but  the  subsequent  trills  and  changes  can  no 
more  be  acquired  without  practice  and  training  by  the 
nightingale  than  by  a  human  singer.  The  bird  stops, 
and  repeats  the  song,  sometimes  carrying  it  on  with  a 


106  SURREY  SCENES 

rush  which  seems  to  promise  success,  and  then  breaking 
down  helplessly.     Now  and  then  the  complete  song  is 
sung    so    low    as    to    be    almost    inaudible,    and    then 
triumphantly  repeated  with  the  utmost  powers  which 
the  bird  can  exert.     Prowling  bird-catchers,  with  their 
traps   and   mealworms,  are  wont   to  find  their  way  to 
Nightingale  Valley  at  this  season  ;  and  the  owner  of 
the  farm  finds  it  necessary  to  give  orders  for  the  pro- 
tection of  the  nightingales  equally  with  the  pheasants 
nesting  in  the  copses.     By  the  end  of  May  the  birds 
are  sitting  ;  and  the  cocks  sing  to  them  throughout  the 
night.     Hard  a^  it  is  to  find  a  nightingale's  nest,  the 
number  in  the  valley  is  such  that  quick-eyed  searchers 
have  seen  as  many  as  six  in  a  day.     The  eggs  and  nest 
of  the  nightingale  are  both  so  beautiful,  and  so  unlike 
those  of  any  other  English  bird,  that  it  is  impossible  to 
mistake    them    when    once    seen.     The    site    is  nearly 
always    chosen   among    the    brown    and    dead    oak    or 
Spanish-chestnut  leaves  which  lie  on  the  ground  among 
the  brambles  or  wild-rose  roots,  or  have  drifted  into 
some  hollow  of  a  bank.     Sometimes,   though    rarely, 
the  position  is  open  to  every  passer-by,  with  nothing 
to  conceal  it  but  the  resemblance  of  the  nest  and  sitting 
bird,  with  her  russet  back,  to  the  surrounding  colour. 
The  outer  circle  of  the  nest  is  built  of  dead  oak-leaves, 
so  arranged  that  the  rim  of  the  cup  is  broken  by  their 
projections,  a  mode  of  concealment  practised,  so  far  as 
the  writer  knows,  by  the  nightingale  alone  of  English 
birds,  though  a  common  device  in  the  nests  of  tropical 
species.     The  lining  is  made  with  the  skeleton-leaves 


THE  NIGHTINGALE    VALLEY  107 

that  have  fallen  in  the  previous  winter,  and  completed 
with  a  few  strands  of  horse-hair,  on  which  the  shining 
olive-brown  eggs  are  laid.  There  are  few  prettier 
sights  than  that  of  a  nightingale  on  her  nest.  The 
elegance  of  the  bird,  the  exquisite  shades  of  the  russet 
and  grey  of  its  plumage,  set  in  the  circle  of  oak-leaves 
among  the  briars,  suggest  a  natural  harmony  and 
refinement  in  keeping  with  the  beauty  of  its  unrivalled 
song.  A  pair  of  cuckoos  also  haunts  the  Nightingale 
Valley  every  spring. 

The  popular  feeling  in  England  in  favour  of  the 
cuckoo  is  as  unaccountable  as  the  affection  for  the 
nightingale  is  natural  and  unquestioned.  It  is  certainly 
of  recent  growth,  for  the  old  writers  formed  a  just 
estimate  of  its  character,  and  condemned  it  alike  in 
metaphor  and  the  plainest  prose.  Even  to  hear  its 
voice  was  an  evil  omen — 

"  It  were  a  common  tayle, 
That  it  were  better  to  hear  the  nightingale 
Much  rather  than  the  lewd  cuckoo  sing." 

Such  is  Chaucer's  comment  on  the  note,  which,  pro- 
bably from  its  association  with  the  coming  of  spring, 
is  now  so  eagerly  listened  for  in  rural  England.  The 
cuckoo's  coming  is  the  certain  sign  that  winter  is  over. 
"One  swallow  does  not  make  a  summer,  but  one 
cuckoo  does  make  a  spring,"  should  be  the  amended 
form  of  the  old  proverb.  And  this  the  burden  of  the 
ancient  catch — 

"  Summer  is  yeomen  in ; 
Loud  sings  cuckoo." 


io8  SURREY  SCENES 

As  for  the  date  of  his  coming,  that1  is  as  uncertain  as 
the  arrival  of  the  season  itself.  "  He  did  use  to  come 
on  Wareham  Fair,"  said  a  Dorsetshire  labourer  the 
other  day  ;  "  but  now  he  seems  to  come  just  when 
he  likes." 

But  except  as  a  weather-sign,  the  writer  fails  to  find 
one  redeeming  point  in  the  life  of  the  English  cuckoo  ; 
and  if  the  cuckoo-lore  of  the  Old  World,  over  which 
it  roams  from  Lapland  to  the  Equator,  and  from 
Connaught  to  Kamschatka,  could  be  compared,  it 
should  bear  out  this  conclusion.  He  is  a  "  vagrom 
man,"  as  Dogberry  would  say  :  a  vulgarian,  a  dis- 
reputable parasite.  Yet  he  is  in  some  ways  an  inter- 
esting creature,  and  the  world  has  always  a  fondness  for 
interesting  scamps.  He  is  an  impostor  so  complete, 
that  the  mere  catalogue  of  his  deceptions  rouses 
curiosity.  From  the  egg,  which  imitates  in  size  and 
colour  that  of  the  harmless  skylark,  to  the  full  and 
fraudulent  plumage  of  maturity,  which  clothes  the 
indolent  cuckoo  in  the  garb  of  the  fierce  and  active 
sparrow-hawk,  he  lives  for  ever  under  false  colours. 
Though  he  looks  like  a  hawk,  he  is  an  insect-eater  ; 
he  has  two  toes  pointing  forward  and  two  backward, 
like  a  woodpecker ;  but  he  cannot  climb.  He  is 
aVropyos, — devoid  of  natural  affection  ;  and  never 
works  for  his  wife,  any  more  than  she  does  for  her 
children.  There  was  once  a  cuckoo  in  Germany  who 
hatched  her  own  eggs  ;  and  another  has  been  known 
to  feed  its  young  one,  when  the  foster-mother,  a  hedge- 
sparrow,  had  been  killed.  But  these  instances  are  rare 


THE  NIGHTINGALE    VALLEY  109 

exceptions  to  the  rule  of  cuckoo-life.  In  Spain,  a 
large  cuckoo  is  the  especial  parasite  of  the  magpie,  and 
lays  eggs  which  almost  exactly  resemble  those  of  the 
latter  bird.  Yet,  in  America,  there  is  an  honest 
cuckoo,  which  builds  a  nest  though  a  bad  one,  and 
hatches  its  own  eggs.  This  is  the  "  cow-bird,"  so 
called  from  its  note,  "  Kowe — kowe — kowe,"  which  is 
uttered  with  gradually  increasing  speed  until  it  some- 
what resembles  the  bubbling  notes  at  times  uttered  by 
our  cuckoo.  The  American  cuckoo  will  even  decoy 
visitors  from  its  nest  by  the  affectionate  arts  which  so 
many  birds  make  use  of  to  divert  danger  from  their 
young  to  themselves. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  know  which  place  "  pays 
best,"  from  the  cuckoo  point  of  view,  and  to  try  the 
result  of  contact  with  European  cuckoo  morals  on  the 
honest  American  cousin.  If  birds  have  the  power  of 
comparison,  the  contrast  must  be  hard  to  bear  ;  for  the 
career  of  the  disreputable  young  cuckoo  is  one  of 
worldly  success  from  his  first  chipping  the  shell  to  his 
late  departure  from  our  shores.  He  is  born  with  a 
special  contrivance  in  the  structure  of  his  back,  to 
enable  him  to  hoist  his  foster-brothers  out,  and  never 
rests  till  he  has  done  so,  and  made  things  quiet  and 
comfortable.  The  foster-parents  then  pamper  the 
young  cuckoo  with  a  silly  infatuation,  due  apparently 
to  its  size  and  appetite.  "  See  what  a  fine  child  we 
have  got  !  "  is  the  obvious  feeling  of  a  pair  of  wagtails 
or  hedge-sparrows  fussing  round  a  young  cuckoo, 
which  though  fully  fledged  is  too  lazy  to  feed  itself. 


no  SURREY  SCENES 

Even  other  young  birds,  if  placed  in  the  same  cage 
with  a  young  cuckoo,  soon  begin  to  feed  it.  Yet  after 
all  the  spoiling  which  it  receives,  the  cuckoo  is  a 
thoroughly  ill-conditioned,  surly,  and  spiteful  bird.  A 
young  one,  which  was  daily  fed  by  a  thrush  no  older 
than  itself  which  was  confined  in  the  same  cage,  pecked 
the  poor  bird's  eye  out  because  it  ventured  to  eat  a 
worm  itself.  Buffon  speaks  of  a  tame  cuckoo  which 
would  follow  its  owner,  flying  from  tree  to  tree,  some- 
times leaving  him  for  a  time  to  visit  the  cherry 
orchards.  We  much  doubt  whether  cuckoos  eat 
cherries.  All  the  tame  cuckoos  we  have  known  have 
been  uninteresting  and  unfriendly  birds.  At  the  Zoo, 
where  English  wild  birds  and  migrants  are  tamed  in 
the  large  aviaries,  and  nightingales,  wagtails,  warblers, 
and  even  a  woodcock  live  together  on  the  best  of 
terms,  the  cuckoos  are  wild  and  as  much  disliked  by 
the  other  birds  in  captivity  as  they  are  when  free. 
But  the  sounds  of  summer  would  be  the  poorer  for  the 
loss  of  the  cuckoo's  note.  It  is  beyond  all  others  the 
sylvan  bird,  certain  to  be  found  among  the  lofty  oak 
groves  and  the  glades  of  noble  parks  ;  and  its  cry, 
heard  even  before  the  dawn,  brings  crowding  memories 
of  the  lakes  and  woods  of  Selborne  and  Wolmer  Forest, 
of  Windsor  Park,  of  Brockenhurst,  and  the  wide 
woodlands  of  the  South. 


ITT 


THE   HERONRY   IN   RICHMOND   PARK 

WHEN  the  Duke  of  Fife  kindly  took  the  envoys  of 
Gungunhana  to  see  Richmond  Park,  they  asked  "  where 
were  his  assegais  ?  "  Such  at  least  was  the  story  current 
at  the  time,  and  it  may  well  have  been  true  ;  for  the 
park,  with  its  deer,  its  game,  its  ancient  oaks,  pools, 
lakes,  and  heronry,  is  a  typical  piece  of  wild  England, 
such  as  might  well  appeal  to  the  sporting  impulse  of 
wild  men  like  these  African  chiefs,  and  remains,  almost 
unspoilt,  within  an  houf  s  walk  of  the  greatest  city  in 
the  world.  The  contrast  enhances  the  interest  of  this 
famous  domain.  But  apart  from  the  accident  of  site, 
Richmond  Park  can  claim  on  its  merits  a  place  among 
the  best  of  these  enclosed  "  paradises  "  in  which  English- 
men take  such  pride  and  pleasure.  In  size  it  equals 
that  of  any  private  park  in  England  except  Hawkstone. 
Towards  the  sunset  it  looks  over  a  riverside  landscape 
of  incomparable  richness,  and  the  whole  is  just  suffi- 
ciently preserved  for  Royal  sport,  to  maintain  the 
proper  character  of  a  park,  as  a  precinct  devoted  to 
the  sport  and  recreation  of  a  single  owner.  It  is  to 
this  careful  surveillance  that  Londoners  owe  the  estab- 


ii2  SURREY  SCENES 

lishment  of  the  heronry  ;  for,  strange  to  say,  this  is  not 
a  survival,  but  a  new  colony,  and  a  unique  instance  ot 
the  migration  of  what  are  almost  the  shyest  birds  in 
England,  toivards  rather  than  away  from  a  populous 
city. 

The  original  home  of  these  herons  was  in  the  home 
park  at  Hampton  Court,  where  the  heronry  had  been 
for  two  centuries  one  of  the  ornaments  of  Wolsey's 
palace  by  the  Thames.  There,  some  ten  years  back, 
they  were  disturbed  by  the  felling  of  some  trees  near 
their  nests,  and  forsaking  Hampton  Court,  they  estab- 
lished their  new  home  in  the  wood  at  the  head  of  the 
two  lakes,  which  are  known  jointly  as  the  "  Penn 
Ponds."  There,  protected  partly  by  the  care  of  the 
keepers,  partly  by  the  wary  silence  and  stillness  main- 
tained by  these  nocturnal  birds,  the  colony  has  increased 
from  ten  to  fifteen  nests,  unknown  to  most  visitors  to 
the  park,  who  possibly  mistake*  the  harsh  and  barking 
cry,  which  sometimes  issues  from  the  grove  towards 
sunset,  for  the  voice  of  a  dog,  or  the  challenge  of  a 
solitary  stag. 

A  closer  acquaintance  with  the  inner  life  of  the 
heronry,  and  with  the  nature  of  the  wood  in  which  it  is 
situated,  goes  far  to  explain  the  heron's  choice.  Pro- 
tected on  the  lower  side  by  the  broad  waters  of  the 
lake,  and  screened  from  view  on  the  south  and  west  by 
a  thick  fringe  of  birch  trees,  the  wood  is  the  chosen 
home,  not  only  of  the  herons,  but  of  all  the  wild 
creatures  in  which  the  park  abounds.  The  running 
stream  which  descends  from  the  high  ground  towards 


THE  HERONRY  IN  RICHMOND  PARK      113 

the  Kingston  Gate,  and  forms  the  main  feeder  of  the 
lake,  passes  through  its  lower  side,  and  is  joined  by 
other  springs  which  ooze  up  in  the  plantation,  to  form 
a  miniature  marsh,  in  which  the  young  broods  of  wild- 
ducks  and  moor-hens  shelter.  Even  the  red  deer, 
which  come  at  evening  and  in  the  early  morning  to 
browse  on  the  floating  tops  of  the  water-lilies,  and  to 
drink  the  purer  water  at  the  lake  head,  are  sometimes 
tempted  to  cross  the  narrow  straits,  and  crop  the  rank 
herbage  of  the  marsh  beyond.  Once  hidden  among  the 
tall  oaks  and  rhododendrons,  the  trespassing  stag  will 
remain  alone  for  days,  enjoying  the  comparative  silence 
and  solitude  which  the  fenced  and  locked  enclosure 
affords. 

The  very  dry  and  hot  spring  and  early  summer  of 
1893  were  exceptionally  favourable  to  all  the  birds 
and  beasts  which  rear  their  young  in  the  park.  The 
last  day  of  April  was  more  like  a  hot  June  day,  with 
all  the  freshness  of  young  spring  in  the  leaves  of  the 
trees  ;  and  the  newly-arrived  birds,  as  well  as  those 
which  had  spent  the  winter  in  the  park,  were  revelling 
in  the  warmth.  It  was  the  most  joyous  spring  day  I 
ever  remember.  The  trees  seemed  all  to  have  rushed 
into  leaf  together.  The  birds  were  almost  beside  them- 
selves with  happiness,  which  they  showed  each  after 
their  fashion.  All  the  spring  warblers,  resting  after 
their  journey  over  sea,  were  practising  their  song,  wild- 
ducks  were  flying  in  pairs  high  over  the  lake — presum- 
ably mallards  that  were  unoccupied  with  their  broods — 
the  lesser  spotted  woodpeckers,  the  cuckoos,  redstarts, 


n4  SURREY  SCENES 

and  wood-pigeons  were  all  uttering  their  spring  notes. 
The  deer  were  lying  asleep,  some  of  the  stags  stretched 
out  with  feet  straight  before  them,  and  their  chins 
resting  on  their  knees,  like  a  dog  on  a  doorstep. 
Everything  was  happy,  careless,  and  contented.  The 
fringe  of  the  wood,  in  the  centre  of  which  the  herons 
were  silently  brooding  their  young,  was  alive  with  the 
melody  of  birds  and  the  movements  of  the  smaller 
beasts  with  which,  in  addition  to  the  red  and  fallow- 
deer,  the  park  is  now  so  abundantly  stocked.  Swarms 
of  rabbits,  old  and  young,  were  moving  or  sitting-up 
in  the  tussocks  of  dead  grass  among  the  birch-stems, 
wood-pigeons  glided  from  tree  to  tree,  so  tame  as  to  be 
almost  indifferent  to  our  intrusion,  and  the  song  of  the 
wood-warbler,  the  chiff-chaff,  the  cuckoo,  and  the 
chaffinch,  came  from  all  parts  of  the  grove.  Within 
the  outer  circle  of  birch,  the  character  of  the  wood 
changes.  Tall  young  oaks  and  dark  spruce-firs,  with 
scattered  clumps  of  rhododendron,  take  the  place  of  the 
thick  and  feathery  birch  ;  and  the  song  of  the  smaller 
birds  was  lost  in  the  harsh  and  angry  cries  of  the 
disturbed  herons.  A  carrion-crow  flapped  from  her 
nest  on  a  dead  oak,  and  flew  with  loud  and  warning 
croak  through  the  centre  of  the  wood  ;  and  a  trespass- 
ing deer,  springing  from  its  form  in  which  it  was  lying 
concealed  like  an  Exmoor  stag,  crashed  through  the 
thick  growth  of  rhododendrons,  and  added  to  the  alarm 
of  the  colony.  Four  male  herons  came  sweeping  high 
above  the  oaks  in  rapid  circles  to  seek  the  cause  of  the 
disturbance  ;  and  at  the  same  moment  the  first  of  the 


THE  HERONRY  IN  RICHMOND  PARK      115 

nests  became  plainly  visible.  It  was  placed  on  the  top 
of  a  tall  spruce-fir,  which  was  so  thickly  loaded  with 
the  solid  pile  of  brambles,  sticks,  and  reeds,  that  a 
sudden  gale  must  endanger  the  safety  of  tree  and  nest 
alike.  The  hen-bird  was  sitting  close,  and  as  she 
slipped  silently,  like  a  grey  shadow,  from  the  nest,  the 
faint  cry  of  the  young  was  clearly  heard.  The  second 
nest  was  built  in  an  oak,  and  a  third  and  fourth  in  two 
spruces  growing  side  by  side.  In  a  small  group  of 
spruce- firs  further  to  the  north,  almost  every  tree  held 
a  nest,  the  spruces  being  evidently  the  favourite  site  for 
the  herons'  nursery.  One  large  nest  was  placed  in  a 
beech,  near  the  lake-side,  and  others  in  the  oaks  further 
to  the  north.  In  all  there  appear  to  be  at  least  twelve 
pairs,  in  addition  to  four  more  building  in  a  separate 
wood  which  crowns  the  hill  to  the  north. 

As  each  heron  left  its  nest  and  joined  the  company 
of  its  fellows  which  were  soaring  above  the  wood,  the 
scene  became  more  wild  and  striking  than  is  common, 
even  in  surroundings  more  often  associated  with  English 
heronries  than  the  centre  of  a  London  park.  As  the 
eye  travelled  upwards  beyond  the  green  summits  of  the 
oaks,  the  sky  was  filled  with  the  forms  of  these  wide- 
winged  birds,  sweeping  in  hurried  and  anxious  circles 
between  the  tree-tops  and  the  sun,  and  casting  swift 
and  intermittent  shadows  that  cut  and  crossed  the 
broken  lights  beneath.  All  the  birds  were  thoroughly 
alarmed  ;  their  flight  was  extremely  rapid  ;  and  the 
grouping  of  such  a  number  of  dark  forms,  moving 
swiftly  against  a  limited  space  of  sky,  their  plumage 


n6  SURREY  SCENES 

flashing  alternately  black  and  white  as  they  faced  or 
crossed  the  blazing  sunlight,  was  a  sight  not  to  be 
forgotten.  At  such  times  the  head  is  thrown  back  in  a 
noble  poise,  the  feet  extended  like  a  train  far  beyond 
the  tail,  and  the  broad  flight-feathers  of  the  wing  stand 
out  clear  and  distinct  against  the  sky.  Moving  towards 
the  lake,  in  order  to  allow  the  herons  to  return  to  their 
nests,  we  flushed  a  pair  of  wild-drakes  from  a  shallow 
ditch,  and  almost  at  the  same  moment  a  lame  duck 
shuffled  distressfully  from  the  same  spot,  and  moved 
off  slowly,  with  apparent  difficulty,  in  a  direction 
parallel  to  the  lake.  The  counterfeit  was  so  remark- 
able, that  had  we  not  caught  a  glimpe  of  a  small  black 
object  dashing  into  the  marsh  which  lay  a  few  feet  from 
the  drain  on  the  opposite  side  to  the  course  taken  by 
the  duck,  no  suspicion  as  to  the  reality  of  her  disable- 
ment would  have  occurred.  Meanwhile,  the  old  bird 
invited  pursuit,  lying  down,  as  if  unable  to  move 
further  ;  and,  resolved  to  see  the  end  of  so  finished  and 
courageous  a  piece  of  acting,  we  accepted  the  invitation 
and  gave  chase.  For  twenty  yards  or  more  the  bird 
shuffled  and  stumbled  through  the  rhododendron- 
bushes,  until  she  made  for  the  lake-side,  where  the 
ground  was  more  open.  There,  running  fast,  with  her 
head  up  and  discarding  all  pretence  of  lameness,  for 
another  twenty  yards,  she  took  wing,  and  flew  slowly 
just  before  us,  at  about  three  feet  from  the  ground, 
until  she  reached  the  limit  of  the  enclosure,  when, 
uttering  a  derisive  quack,  she  rose  swiftly  above  the 
trees  and  flew  out  over  the  lake.  Anxious  to  see  the 


THE   HERONRY  IN  RICHMOND  PARK      117 

sequel  to  this  beautiful  instance  of  maternal  affection, 
we  hurried  back  to  the  little  marsh  where  the  duck- 
lings were  probably  hidden,  and,  sheltered  under  a 
rhododendron-bush,  awaited  the  return  of  the  herons  to 
their  nests  and  of  the  wild-duck  to  her  brood.  In  a 
few  minutes  she  reappeared,  flying  swiftly  in  circles 
among  the  trees,  and  after  satisfying  herself  that  the 
danger  was  past,  she  alighted  among  some  wild-currant 
bushes  about  thirty  yards  from  the  marsh.  There  she 
stood  for  a  moment,  still  and  listening,  with  head  erect ; 
and,  seeing  nothing  to  alarm  her,  ran  bustling  down  to 
the  drain.  After  realizing  that  no  harm  had  overtaken 
her  brood  on  the  spot  where  they  had  been  surprised, 
she  climbed  the  bank  and  tripped  lightly  into  the 
marsh,  where,  in  answer  to  her  low  quack,  we  soon 
heard  the  piping  voices  of  the  ducklings,  which  till 
then  had  remained  motionless  and  invisible  in  the  few 
yards  of  grass  and  rushes  near.  In  a  few  seconds  the 
whole  family  were  united,  and  we  had  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  the  old  bird  swim  past  at  the  head  of  an  active 
fleet  of  eleven  black-and-yellow  ducklings,  making  for 
the  centre  of  the  marsh.  The  herons  also  recovered 
from  their  alarm,  the  hen-birds  returning  one  by  one 
to  the  nests,  and,  after  some  slight  endearments,  settling 
down  to  brood  their  young,  while  the  cocks  resumed 
their  motionless  poise  on  the  surrounding  oaks,  to 
"dream  of  supper  and  the  distant  pool." 


THE   DEER   IN   RICHMOND   PARK 

IN  the  winter  of  1886  the  deer  in  Richmond  Park 
were  seen  to  be  suffering  from  some  strange  disorder. 
Several  of  them  died  ;  but  it  was  not  until  January 
1887  that  the  disease  was  proved  to  be  rabies.  I  find 
the  following  notes  made  at  the  time  of  the  results  of 
several  visits  of  inquiry.  "  The  keepers  have  been 
doing  their  best  to  stamp  out  the  infection,  but  with 
little  success.  For  a  while  there  are  no  fresh  cases  ; 
then  several  animals  are  found  to  be  infected  at  the 
same  time,  and  have  to  be  destroyed.  At  least  150 
fallow-deer  have  already  been  killed,  though  the  red 
deer  seem  so  far  to  have  escaped  the  contagion. 

u  When  the  disease  was  pronounced  to  be  rabies  the 
keepers  were  somewhat  incredulous  ;  but  to  any  one 
well  acquainted  with  the  symptoms,  the  condition  of 
the  poor  animals  which  were  netted  and  brought  for 
inspection  could  not  be  matter  for  doubt.  Even  when 
the  fact  was  proved  by  experiment  it  was  difficult  to 
understand  how  the  infection  was  communicated.  Deer, 
it  was  said,  do  not  bite  when  fighting,  but  use  their 
horns.  It  was  observed,  however,  that  the  rabid  deer 


THE  DEER  IN  RICHMOND   PARK          119 

did  bite  others,  inflicting  very  severe  wounds ;  for 
though  the  stag  has  only  a  pad  of  bone  in  the  upper 
jaw,  the  lower  is  armed  with  from  four  to  eight  very 
sharp  incisors.  They  are  also  fond  of  licking  each 
other,  and  it  was  found  that  the  saliva  of  an  infected 
deer  was  fatal  to  a  dog  ;  a  healthy  doe  after  being 
bitten  by  it  also  died  rabid.  It  was  hoped  that  the 
further  spread  of  disease  might  be  checked  by  isolating 
the  animals  infected  :  a  plan  which  was  rendered  less 
difficult  than  might  be  supposed  by  a  habit  which  the 
deer  have,  after  the  breeding-season,  of  dividing  into 
separate  herds  into  which  intruders  are  not  admitted. 
As  the  disease  was  apparently  confined  to  a  single  herd, 
it  seemed  probable  that  by  separating  this  from  the 
others  the  disease  might  be  kept  within  bounds. 

"  On  the  north  side  of  the  park  near  the  head-keeper's 
lodge  is  an  old  enclosure,  which  was  enlarged,  and  the 
herd  were  then  decoyed  into  it  by  food  placed  inside. 
This  was  not  difficult,  as  during  the  winter  months  the 
deer  are  always  fed  with  hay,  maize,  and  swede  turnips, 
and  the  heavy  snow  made  them  tamer  than  usual. 
The  ground  was  well  suited  for  keeping  them  in  health, 
as  it  is  on  a  hill,  with  a  good  supply  of  water,  and 
dotted  with  large  trees  and  patches  of  bracken  for 
shelter.  In  July  about  thirty  stags  and  fifty  hinds 
were  left  in  the  enclosure ;  the  stags  keeping  in  a 
separate  herd  and  lying  quiet,  as  their  horns  were  in 
the  velvet,  when  they  are  very  tender.  But  though 
apparently  healthy,  several  stags  had  been  shot  the  day 
before  my  visit,  and  had  no  doubt  left  the  seeds  of 


I20  SURREY  SCENES 

further  mischief  behind  them.  Since  then  nearly  all 
those  first  confined  have  been  destroyed,  and  now 
another  herd  is  enclosed  as  suspect.  But  this  is  not 
the  whole  extent  of  the  mischief.  Isolated  cases  have 
appeared  in  the  park  ;  and  if  these  increase  it  will  be 
difficult  to  know  what  further  precautions  can  be  taken, 
for  the  season  is  at  hand  when  the  old  herds  are  broken 
up,  and  the  stags  join  the  hinds  for  some  time."  The 
disease  seems  gradually  to  have  been  extirpated  by 
shooting  down  all  suspected  animals. 

Though  so  many  have  been  lost  there  are  still  more 
than  1 200  deer  left  in  the  park,  both  red  and  fallow, 
and  few  parks  contain  a  larger  stock  in  proportion  to 
their  size.  It  was  once  supposed  that  the  two  species 
could  not  be  kept  together,  and  in  some  places,  as  at 
Grimsthorpe  and  Badminton,  they  are  still  separated. 
But  at  Richmond  they  live  together  peacefully  enough, 
and  I  have  seen  the  red  and  fallow  stags  feeding  in  the 
same  herd.  The  fallow  are  true  woodland  deer,  and 
their  colour  exactly  matches  that  of  the  dead  bracken  ; 
the  red  deer  prefer  the  more  open  ground.  Though 
the  red  deer  of  Richmond  do  not  reach  the  great 
size  of  those  in  Windsor  Forest,  many  of  them  are 
above  the  average  of  those  in  a  Scotch  forest. 

Every  year  the  largest  red  deer  stags  are  caught  and 
removed  to  Windsor  Park,  in  case  they  should  prove 
a  source  of  danger  to  the  public  in  the  rutting  season. 
Their  capture  is  an  interesting  and  exciting  scene.  In 
January,  1894,  some  twenty  stags,  all  with  large 
antlers,  were  in  the  large  paddock  or  "  purlieu,"  which 


THE  DEER  IN  RICHMOND  PARK          121 

adjoins  the  park,  near  the  Robin  Hood  Gate,  on  the 
Roehampton  side.  This  is  dotted  with  fine  trees,  and 
lies  along  the  slope  of  a  hill.  A  brook  runs  through 
the  bottom,  which  is  much  like  any  flat  alluvial 
meadow,  and  is  separated  from  the  park  by  the  ordinary 
high  split-oak  railing.  Several  riders,  among  them 
two  ladies,  had  the  exciting  duty  of  chasing  the  herd, 
and  separating  the  stags  one  by  one  from  the  main 
body.  Very  hard  riding  and  much  cracking  of  whips 
were  necessary  to  do  this  ;  and  the  moment  one  parted 
from  the  rest,  a  brace  of  Scotch  deerhounds  were  slipped 
after  the  deer.  The  object  of  the  chase  was  not  that 
the  hounds  should  catch  the  stag  in  the  paddock, 
but  to  force  it  to  leave  it  through  the  only  exit,  a 
gate  in  the  high  split-oak  fence,  outside  which  the 
"  toils "  are  spread.  This  classic  contrivance  for 
taking  deer  is  a  set  of  high  nets,  slenderly  supported 
on  poles,  which  "  give  "  when  the  stag  rushes  in,  and 
entangle  him  directly.  Keepers,  crouched  on  either 
side  beneath  the  cover  of  the  paling,  stand  ready  with 
leather  straps  and  buckles  to  bind  the  animals'  legs,  and 
transfer  them  to  a  cart.  The  first  stag  was  so  alarmed 
by  the  quick  pursuit  of  the  deerhounds,  so  unlike  that 
of  the  cockneys'  collies  and  terriers,  which  sometimes 
amuse  themselves  by  a  deer-course  in  the  park,  that  it 
rushed  at  full  speed  straight  for  the  fence,  and  charging 
it,  burst  quite  through  the  barrier,  carrying  a  yard  of 
oak-rails  before  it,  and  came  out  uninjured  in  the  park. 
The  deerhounds  followed,  and  a  furious  chase  began 
towards  the  Sheen  Gate.  The  stag,  in  far  better  con- 


122  SURREY  SCENES 

dition  than  the  hounds,  beat  them  fairly,  and  the  pair 
returned,  panting  and  crestfallen,  to  the  paddock. 

The  remainder  of  the  herd  were  less  bold,  and  less 
fortunate  ;  but  the  scene  was  a  curious  reminiscence  of 
the  days  when  the  Stuart  kings  used  to  take  their 
diversion  by  hunting  deer  in  the  royal  parks,  though 
the  result  was  neither  cruel  nor  unsportsmanlike,  but 
only  an  exciting  and  well -managed  episode  in  the 
management  of  a  "  deer  ranch."  First  a  charge  and 
chase  by  the  riders,  ending  in  the  "  cutting  out J>  of  a 
stag  from  the  herd  ;  then  a  splendid  course  round  the 
ring-fence,  the  deerhounds  stretching  belly  to  ground, 
and  the  stag,  with  antlers  lying  on  his  back  and  muzzle 
stretched  horizontally,  flying  before  them  until  he 
came  to  the  opening  in  the  palings.  One  desperate 
bound  landed  him  in  the  web  of  nets  set  beyond,  and 
a  rush  of  the  keepers  soon  transferred  him,  bound  and 
panting,  to  the  deer-cart.  The  paddock,  being  quiet 
and  not  open  to  the  public,  is  a  favourite  lying  ground 
for  hares,  which  kept  rising  from  the  forms  and  making 
away  past  the  deer  and  horsemen.  On  September  i, 
1894,  the  Duke  of  Cambridge  and  three  other  guns 
shot  sixteen  brace  of  partridges  and  forty  hares  on  this 
side  of  Richmond  Park,  and  on  Coombe  Farm,  most  of 
the  hares  being  got  in  this  enclosure. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  present  year  (1895)  tne 
hard  frost  made  it  necessary  to  postpone  the  catching 
of  the  larger  stags  for  transport  to  Windsor  until  the 
end  of  February.  Even  then  the  ground  was  so 
saturated  with  frost  that  the  riders  could  not  gallop 


THE  DEER  IN  RICHMOND  PARK  123 

hard,  and  most  of  the  work  had  to  be  done  by  the 
deerhounds.  The  stags  were  not  driven  into  the 
paddock,  as  the  escape  of  the  animal  mentioned  above 
made  it  clear  that  the  enclosure  gave  no  special 
advantages  for  their  capture.  The  nets  were  set 
between  a  thick  plantation  and  one  of  the  enclosures 
in  which  the  deer  had  been  fed  during  the  frost.  The 
hard  weather  had  had  no  ill  effects  on  their  condition, 
as  they  had  been  liberally  supplied  with  hay  ;  and  some 
of  the  finest  courses  ever  seen  in  the  park  were  witnessed. 
The  "  hunting  "  began  at  eleven,  and  did  not  end  until 
three  P.M.,  when  four  stags  had  been  taken.  The  two 
largest  beat  the  hounds  cleverly,  and  have  so  far 
maintained  their  claim  to  stay  in  their  native  park  as 
chiefs  of  all  the  herds  during  the  coming  summer. 


124 


FAWNS   IN  THE   "FENCE-MONTHS" 

"DEFENSE  de  chasser"  is  probably  the  origin  of 
the  ancient  term  of  venery  which  heads  the  notices, 
posted  during  May  and  June  at  the  gates  of  the 
royal  deer-parks,  requesting  that  during  the  "  fence- 
months  "  visitors  will  prevent  their  dogs  from  dis- 
turbing the  deer.  In  the  months  of  May  and  June 
the  red  deer  calves  and  fallow  fawns  are  born.  When 
the  young  fern  is  up,  and  Richmond  Park  is  in 
its  fullest  sylvan  beauty,  the  three  main  herds  into 
which  the  seventeen  hundred  head  of  deer  in  the  park 
usually  divide,  are  broken  up.  The  stags  have  shed 
their  horns,  and  steal  away  in  small  parties  into  the 
quiet  parts  of  the  park  until  their  new  antlers  are 
grown,  and  the  does  and  hinds  are  severally  occupied 
in  the  most  anxious  care  .of  their  fawns.  It  is  not 
until  some  weeks  after  their  birth  that  these  beautiful 
little  creatures  are  seen  in  any  number  by  the  chance 
visitor  to  the  park.  Though  both  the  red  and  fallow 
fawns  can  follow  their  hinds  within  a  few  minutes 
of  their  birth,  the  careful  mothers  hide  them  in  the 
tall  fern  or  patches  of  rushes  and  nettles,  and  it 


FAWNS  IN  THE  'FENCE-MONTHS'          125 

is  only  the  older  fawns  that  are  seen  lying  in  the 
open  ground  or  trotting  with  the  herds.  When  the 
fawn  is  born,  the  mother  gently  pushes  it  with  her 
nose  until  it  lies  down  in  the  fern,  and  then  goes 
away  and  watches  from  a  distance,  only  returning 
at  intervals  to  feed  it,  or,  if  the  wind  changes,  or  rain 
threatens,  to  draw  it  away  to  more  sheltered  ground. 
They  are  not  only  most  affectionate,  but  also  most 
courageous  mothers.  Not  long  ago,  a  carriage  was 
being  driven  along  the  road  which  skirts  the  wooded 
hill  upon  which  the  White  Lodge  stands.  There  is 
a  considerable  space  of  flat,  open  ground  between  the 
wood  and  the  road  ;  but  a  young  red  deer  hind  which 
was  watching  her  first  calf  was  so  excited  by  the 
barking  of  a  collie-dog  which  accompanied  the  carriage, 
that  she  ran  down  from  the  hill  and  attacked  and 
wounded  the  dog  with  her  fore-feet,  until  she  drove 
it  for  refuge  under  the  carriage.  As  she  continued 
to  bar  the  road,  the  carriage  was  turned  round  and 
driven  back,  but  was  all  the  way  followed  by  the 
hind  until  it  left  the  park  by  the  Robin  Hood  Gate. 
Gilbert  White  mentions  a  similar  attack  made  on  a 
dog  in  defence  of  her  fawn  by  one  of  the  half-wild 
hinds  in  Wolmer  Forest.  "  Some  fellows,"  he  writes, 
"  suspecting  that  a  calf  new-fallen  was  deposited  in 
a  certain  spot  of  thick  fern,  went  with  a  lurcher  to 
surprise  it,  when  the  parent-hind  rushed  out  of  the 
brake,  and  taking  a  vast  spring,  with  all  her  feet 
close  together,  pitched  upon  the  neck  of  the  dog,  and 
broke  it  ! " 


1 26  SURRE  Y  SCENES 

The  oak-grove  upon  the  sides,  and  the  thick  fern 
upon  the  flat  top  of  the  White  Lodge  hill,  are  the 
most  likely  spots  in  which  to  find  the  hidden  fawns. 
The  red  deer  seem  to  prefer  the  patches  of  tall  rushes 
which  grow  among  the  oaks  ;  and  the  fallow,  the 
thicker  shelter  of  the  fern.  There  are  also  tall  nettle- 
beds  round  the  enclosure,  in  which  the  deer  are  fed 
in  winter,  and  where  in  summer  lumps  of  rock-salt 
are  laid  for  them  to  lick.  These  uninviting  nettle- 
beds  are,  strange  to  say,  favourite  layettes  with  the 
fallow  hinds,  and  in  them  the  writer  has  more  than 
once  found  a  sleeping  fawn. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  see  a  prettier  picture  of 
young  sylvan  life  than  a  red  deer  fawn  lying  in  one 
of  the  patches  of  rushes  among  the  oaks.  Unlike 
the  full-grown  red  deer,  the  fawns  are  beautifully 
spotted  with  white,  and  the  colour  of  the  coat  is  a 
bright  tan,  matching  the  dead  oak-leaves  which  are 
piled  among  the  rushes.  If  the  spectator  approaches 
from  the  leeward  side,  he  may  come  within  a  few 
feet  of  the  fawn,  which  lies  curled  up,  with  its  head 
resting  on  its  flank.  Presently  it  raises  its  head, 
and  looks  at  its  visitor  with  grave,  wide-open  eyes, 
and  if  not  disturbed,  will  go  to  sleep  again.  Other- 
wise it  bounds  up  and  is  at  once  joined  by  the  mother, 
who  has  been  standing  "  afar  off  to  wit  what  would 
be  done  to  him."  As  the  hind  and  fawn  trot  away 
side  by  side,  the  greater  grace  of  the  young  animal 
is  at  once  apparent.  The  head  is  smaller,  the  neck 
and  back  straighter,  and  the  ears  shorter  in  the  fawn, 


FAWNS  IN  THE   'FENCE-MONTHS'  127 

and  the  eye  is  larger,  and  even  more  dark  and  gentle. 
The  fawns  of  the  fallow-deer  are  quite  as  distinct  in 
appearance  from  those  of  the  red  deer  as  are  the 
full-grown  animals  of  either  kind,  both  in  colour 
and  shape.  There  are  three  varieties  of  fallow-deer, 
and  though  these  are  often  members  of  the  same 
herd,  the  fawns  of  each  seem  generally  to  retain  the 
colour  of  the  mother,  the  dark  mouse-coloured  hinds 
having  dark  fawns,  the  white  hinds  cream-coloured 
fawns,  while  the  young  of  the  common  spotted  variety 
are  white,  mottled  with  light-fawn  colour,  which 
gradually  takes  later  the  dappled  hue  of  the  parent- 
hind.  Occasionally  a  very  light  fawn  may  be  seen, 
which  is  probably  a  cross  between  the  white  and 
dappled  varieties.  But  none  of  the  fallow-deer  fawns 
have  the  grace  of  the  red  deer  calf;  they  are  less 
deer-like,  and  in  some  respects,  especially  by  their 
long,  thick  legs,  they  suggest  a  week-old  lamb  ;  while 
the  head  is  more  rounded,  and  the  muzzle  less  pointed 
than  in  the  red  deer.  They  seem  to  leave  the  fern 
and  join  their  mothers  earlier  than  their  larger  cousins, 
and  are  shyer  and  less  easy  of  approach, — a  wildness 
which  seems  difficult  to  account  for  in  the  young  of  a 
species  which  has  been  semi-domesticated  for  so  many 
centuries.  In  order  to  approach  them  nearly,  it  is 
as  well  to  take  the  precaution  of  walking  up  from 
the  leeward  side.  Even  park  deer  seldom  become 
wholly  indifferent  to  the  scent  of  man  ;  a  score  of 
hinds  and  fawns  may  be  lying  scattered  under  the 
oaks  on  the  hill-side  during  a  hot  June  day,  enjoying 


1 2 8  SURXE  Y  SCENES 

the  breeze  and  shade,  and  plainly  unwilling  to  move. 
Yet  if  a  stranger  pass  to  windward  of  them,  they 
will  all  rise,  and  when  he  comes  in  sight,  move  off 
to  a  distance.  So  when,  in  the  winter,  the  keeper 
whom  they  know  brings  the  hay  to  their  feeding 
enclosure,  they  will  scent  him  from  a  distance,  and 
gather  round  the  feeding-pen  almost  like  cattle,  some 
even  venturing  to  pick  up  the  hay  as  he  throws 
it  from  the  fork.  But  if  a  stranger  be  with  him, 
not  a  deer  will  enter  the  enclosure,  and  few  will 
appear  in  sight.  Like  wild  deer,  they  seem  to  have 
greater  mistrust  of  the  danger  which  they  can  scent 
than  of  any  object  which  they  can  see. 

At  the  end  of  summer,  when  the  fawns  are  weaned 
and  the  stags  have  grown  their  antlers,  the  herds 
re-unite,  and  in  September  the  battles  begin  among 
the  stags  for  the  mastery  of  the  greatest  number  of 
hinds.  Then  among  the  oaks  of  Richmond  Park 
there  are  forerunners  of  the  fights  between  the  stags 
which  are  seen  a  month  later  on  the  Scotch  mountains. 
The  writer  once  witnessed  a  struggle  of  the  kind, 
when  belated  in  Richmond  Park,  about  nine  o'clock 
on  a  moonlight  night  in  September.  The  moon  was 
up  over  the  Wimbledon  hills,  and  the  scene  near  the 
pool  by  the  Sheen  Gate  was  so  beautiful,  that  he 
sat  down  by  a  tree  to  watch  the  night.  In  a  few 
minutes  a  stag  came  up  to  the  pool  and  challenged, 
and  was  answered  by  another  from  the  valley,  which 
soon  trotted  up  to  the  other  side  of  the  pond.  In 
a  few  minutes  they  charged,  and  the  crash  of  horns 


FAWNS  IN  THE  'FENCE-MONTHS'  129 

was  loud  and  startling  in  the  still  autumn  night.  After 
a  long  scuffle,  the  new-comer  was  defeated  and  chased 
down  the  slope  towards  the  brook.  It  is  on  the 
flats  by  the  brook  between  the  Roehampton  and  Robin 
Hood  Gates  that  the  most  formidable  battles  usually 
take  place.  A  large  stag  generally  takes  possession 
of  the  ground  on  either  side  of  the  stream,  and  any 
invasion  of  their  territory  is  so  keenly  resented,  that 
the  keeper  of  the  Roehampton  Lodge  has  occasionally 
preferred  to  make  a  very  wide  circuit  by  the  southern 
path,  to  crossing  the  small  bridge  that  leads  directly 
over  the  brook  to  his  usual  beat  in  the  park.  When 
a  stag  is  seen  to  put  out  his  tongue  and  let  it  play 
rapidly  round  his  lips,  it  is  safe  to  infer  that  his 
temper  is  dangerous  ;  and  in  that  case  it  is  always 
well  to  avoid  disturbing  the  hinds.  In  Windsor  Park, 
in  September,  the  writer  has  seen  as  many  as  eighty 
hinds  kept  in  sole  possession  by  a  single  stag.  At 
Richmond  there  are  no  such  predominant  masters 
of  the  herd,  but  no  one  can  return  from  a  day 
spent  in  observing  them  without  feeling  grateful 
to  those  who  prevented  the  park  being  turned  into 
a  vast  volunteer  camp  during  the  "  fence-months." 


HAMPSHIRE  STREAMS   AND 
WOODLANDS 


WINTRY   WATERS 

(THE   ITCHEN  AND   TlDAL    THAMES) 

THOSE  who  during  the  great  frost  of  January  1895 
cared  to  forego  the  attractions  of  the  dead  and  frozen 
surface  of  the  London  lakes,  found  a  strange  contrast 
in  the  scene  presented  by  the  still  living  and  moving 
surface  of  the  London  river.  The  tidal  Thames  for 
the  moment  changed  its  nature,  and  became  a  sub-arctic 
stream,  deserted  by  man,  whose  place  was  taken  by 
flights  of  wandering  sea-fowl  and  a  weltering  drift  of 
ice.  Day  and  night  the  ice-floes  coursed  up  and  down 
with  the  tide,  joining  and  parting,  touching  and 
receding,  eddying  and  swirling,  always  moving  and  ever 
increasing,  with  a  ceaseless  sound  of  lapping  water  and 
whispering,  shivering  ice  ;  while  over  the  surface  the 
sea-gulls  skimmed  in  hundreds,  sailing  out  of  the  fog 
and  mist  of  London,  flying  over  the  crowded  bridges> 


WINTRY   WATERS  131 

or  floating  midway  between  the  parapet  and  the  stream. 
These  children  of  the  frost  became  the  pets  of  the 
river-side  population,  and  bread  cast  from  the  bridges 
was  the  signal  for  a  rush  of  white  wings,  and  a  dainty 
dipping  of  feet  into  the  water  as  the  birds  gathered  up 
the  food,  fearful,  like  Kingsley's  petrels,  that  the  ice 
should  nip  their  toes.  If  a  larger  portion  than  common 
fell  on  an  ice-floe,  the  birds  would  settle  on  the  floating 
mass,  with  wings  beating  backwards  like  white  butter- 
flies, and  guests,  feast,  and  table  alike  travel  up  the 
river  with  the  tide. 

The  scene  beneath  the  bridges  serves  to  remind  us 
that  it  is  not  on  the  frozen  pools,  but  upon  the  still  open 
and  running  streams  that  the  spell  of  the  frost  exerts 
its  most  pleasing  powers.  There  it  adds  as  much  new 
life  and  novel  form  as  on  the  still  waters  it  destroys.  It 
is  hard  to  believe  that  the  same  powers  have  been  at 
work  on  both.  On  the  ponds  and  meres  and  slow 
streams  the  frost  lays  its  hand  and  seals  them  like  a 
tomb.  As  the  ice-lips  meet  on  the  frozen  bank,  and 
nip  the  rushes  fast,  every  creature  that  lived  upon  the 
surface  is  shut  out  and  exiled.  The  moorhens  and 
dabchicks  are  frozen  into  the  ice,  or  leave  for  the  run- 
ning streams  and  ditches ;  the  water-rats  desert  the 
banks,  the  wild-ducks  have  long  gone,  and  only  the 
tiny  wren  creeps  among  the  sedges,  or  shuffles  miserably 
among  the  bulrush  stems.  Even  the  fish  are  fast 
frozen  into  the  ice,  in  which  their  bright  sides  shine 
like  the  golden  carp  on  a  tray  of  Chinese  lac.  Motion 
has  ceased,  and,  with  motion,  sound,  except  that  which 


132     HAMPSHIRE  STREAMS  AND    WOODLANDS 

Sir  Bedivere  heard  by  the  frozen  lake,  "  among  the 
mountains  by  the  winter  sea,"  the  whispering  of 

"  The  many-knotted  water-flags, 
That  whistled  stiff  and  dry  about  the  marge." 

But  there  are  hundreds  of  streams  in  the  South  of 
England  which  no  power  of  frost  can  either  freeze  or 
stay  ;  and  it  may  be  doubted  whether  even  the  glories 
of  spring  buds,  or  the  richest  growth  of  summer  by 
their  banks,  can  match  the  beauty  of  these  wintry 
waters  in  a  strong  and  lasting  frost.  Take,  for 
instance,  the  lower  reaches  of  the  Itchen,  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  of  Hampshire  streams,  with  clear,  swift, 
translucent  waters  springing  warm  and  bright  from  the 
deep  chalk  that  lies  beneath  the  frozen  downs.  The 
river  is  so  mild  and  full,  that  it  runs  like  a  vein  of 
warm  life  through  the  cold  body  of  the  hills.  Its 
water-meadows  are  still  green,  though  ribbed  across  with 
multitudinous  channels  of  white  and  crackling  ice  ;  and 
to  them  crowd  plovers  and  redwings,  snipe  and  water- 
hens,  sea-gulls,  field-fares,  and  missel-thrushes,  pipits 
and  larks,  and  all  the  soft-billed  birds  in  search  of  food. 
On  and  around  the  stream  itself  there  is  more  life  than 
at  any  time  since  the  swallows  left  and  the  gnats  died. 
That,  at  least,  was  the  impression  left  on  -the  writer's 
mind,  when  standing  on  one  of  the  main  bridges  over 
the  river  below  St.  Cross,  in  the  bright  sunlight  of  New 
Year's  Day.  Though  the  banks  were  frozen  like  iron, 
not  a  particle  of  ice  appeared  on  the  broad  surface 
of  the  river.  A  pair  of  dabchicks  were  fishing  and 


WINTRY   WATERS  133 

diving  some  fifty  yards  above  the  bridge,  not  altogether 
without  fear  of  man,  but  apparently  confident  in  their 
powers  of  concealment  and  escape.  Coots  and  water- 
hens  were  feeding  beneath  the  banks,  or  swimming,  and 
returning  from  the  sides  to  an  osier-covered  island  in 
the  centre.  Exquisite  grey  wagtails  with  canary- 
coloured  breasts,  and  ashen  and  black  backs,  flirted 
their  tails  in  the  shallows  or  on  the  coping-stones  which 
had  fallen  into  the  stream.  But  the  river  itself  was 
even  more  in  contrast  to  its  setting  than  the  content- 
ment of  the  river-birds  to  the  pinched  misery  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  garden  or  the  fields.  From  bank  to 
bank,  and  from  its  surface  to  its  bed,  the  waters  showed 
a  wealth  and  richness  of  colour,  rendered  all  the  more 
striking  by  the  cold  and  wintry  monotony  of  the  fringe 
of  downs  on  either  side.  As  it  winds  between  the 
frozen  hills,  the  bed  of  the  Itchen  is  like  a  summer- 
garden  set  in  an  ice-house.  However  great  the  depth 
— and  an  8 -ft.  rod  would  scarcely  reach  the  bottom  in 
mid-stream — every  stone  and  every  water-plant  is  to 
be  seen  as  clearly  as  though  it  lay  above  the  surface. 
For  in  midwinter  this  water-garden  is  in  full  growth. 
Exquisitely  cut  leaves  like  acanthus  wave  beneath  the 
surface,  tiny  pea-like  plants  trail  in  the  eddies,  and 
masses  of  brilliant  green  feathery  weed,  like  the  train 
of  a  peacock's  tail,  stream  out,  in  constant  undulating 
motion,  just  beneath  the  surface.  In  other  places  the 
scour  of  the  river  has  washed  the  bed  bare,  and  the  tiny 
globules  of  grey  chalk  may  be  seen  gently  rolling 
onward  as  the  slow  friction  of  the  water  detaches  them 


134    HAMPSHIRE  STREAMS  AND    WOODLANDS 

from  their  bed.  The  low,  bright  sunbeams  were  still 
upon  the  water  when,  slowly  and  almost  insensibly, 
from  beneath  the  dark  arches  of  the  bridge  there  glided 
out  two  mighty  fish, — not  the  bright,  sparkling  trout- 
lets  of  West-country  streams,  arrow-like  and  vivacious, 
or  the  brown  and  lusty  denizens  of  Highland  rivers, 
but  the  solemn  and  sagacious  monsters  which  only  such 
chosen  waters  as  those  of  the  Hampshire  chalk-streams 
breed,  fishes  which  would  have  done  credit  to  the  table 
of  such  prelates  as  William  of  Wykeham,  trout  that 
are  known  and  familiar  to  every  inhabitant,  honoured 
and  envied  while  they  live,  and  destined,  when  caught 
at  last,  to  be  enshrined  in  glass  coffins,  with  inscriptions 
like  embalmed  bishops.  Six  pounds  apiece  was  the 
least  weight  which  we  could  assign  to  the  pair  as  they 
slowly  forged  up  stream  and  lay  side  by  side,  the  tops 
of  their  broad  tails  curling,  and  their  fat  lips  moving, 
looking  from  above  like  two  gigantic  spotted  sala- 
manders among  the  waving  fronds  of  weed. 

Clearly,  in  this  water-world,  the  great  change 
wrought  on  land  by  frost  was  still  unfelt.  The  cold 
has  no  power  beyond  its  surface  ;  plants  and  fishes 
were  unaffected.  Yet  on  the  bank,  even  at  midday, 
the  thermometer  marked  fifteen  degrees  below  freezing- 
point,  and  at  night  a  cold  approaching  that  of  Canada. 
The  reason  is  not  far  to  seek.  The  whole  body  of  the 
river  had  maintained  its  temperature  but  little  below 
that  at  which  it  issues  from  the  chalk.  Both  at  the 
surface  and  at  the  bottom,  the  quickly  flowing  water 
had  a  temperature  of  thirty-six  degrees  Fahrenheit ;  in 


WINTRY   WATERS  135 

the  mill-race  it  was  half  a  degree  warmer  ;  and  only 
where  very  shallow  and  still  did  it  fall  as  low  as  thirty- 
five  and  a  half  degrees.  It  is  therefore  possible  for  a 
chalk  stream  to  maintain  its  heat,  after  a  week  of  one 
of  the  severest  frosts  on  record,  at  some  fifteen  degrees 
above  the  midday  temperature  of  the  land  and  four 
above  freezing-point.  No  wonder  that  the  birds  seek 
its  genial  neighbourhood,  and  its  own  particular  inhabit- 
ants feel  neither  discomfort  nor  dismay.  We  were 
curious  to  visit  the  famous  salmon-pool  at  Swathling, 
some  few  miles  lower  down  the  river,  and  mark  the 
effects  of  frost  in  a  part  where  the  river-waters  are  dis- 
tributed in  every  form,  from  still  frozen  lakes  and 
water-meadow  channels  to  the  mill-race,  and  the  deep, 
swirling  pool,  in  which  a  thirty-pound  salmon  may  be 
caught,  not  two  hours  by  rail  from  London.  The 
Wood  Mill  pool  is  the  crowning  glory  of  the  river. 
Two  streams,  one  from  the  main  mill-head,  another 
from  a  tributary,  rush  into  a  wide  horse-shoe  basin  faced 
with  cam-shedding  and  concrete,  where  the  waters  whirl 
and  spin  in  an  everlasting  eddy.  Ice  in  powder,  ice  in 
blocks,  and  ice  in  sheets  pouring  in  from  the  mill- 
head,  followed  the  spin  of  the  waters  round,  and 
showed  the  force  of  each  minor  whirlpool,  clinking  and 
shivering  against  the  concrete  walls,  except  where  the 
long,  thick  strands  of  moss  deadened  its  impact.  At 
the  back  of  the  pool,  a  shallow  beck  was  running 
below  a  covering  of  thin  sheets,  made  up  of  ice-stars, 
with  upturned  edges  fringed  with  crystal  spikes, 
shifting  and  straining  with  uneasy  motion.  Higher  up, 


136    HAMPSHIRE  STREAMS  AND    WOODLANDS 

the  runnel  was  fringed  with  ice  so  formed  as  to  lie 
just  above  the  surface  ;  and  we  fancied  that  we  could 
detect  a  regular  pulse  or  beat  in  the  stream,  which  now 
brought  the  water  level  with  the  ice-fringe,  and  sent 
the  flattened  bubbles  coursing  below  it,  now  left  it  dry 
and  white  and  clear  of  the  surface.  But  the  strangest 
freak  played  by  the  frost  around  and  above  the  salmon- 
pool,  was  the  formation  of  ground-ice — or  "  anchor 
ice, '  as  it  is  sometimes  called — deep  below  the  un- 
frozen surface  of  the  water. 

The  hanging  mosses,  at  a  depth  of  from  three  to 
four  feet,  were  covered  with  thick  and  clinging  ice  ; 
and  in  the  deep  but  rapid  waters  at  the  inrush  by  the 
mill-head,  rocks  and  stones  far  beneath  were  seen 
coated  and  crusted  with  a  semi-opaque  and  rounded 
glaze  of  crystals.  How  it  happens  that  ice,  which 
should  float  on  the  surface,  forms  and  remains  below 
waters  which  are  themselves  apparently  too  warm  to 
freeze,  we  are  not  prepared  to  explain.  But  in  this 
case  we  forebore  to  test  the  stream,  lest  our  operations 
with  a  thermometer  at  the  end  of  a  string  should  be 
mistaken  for  some  new  form  of  fish-poaching, — a  view 
clearly  taken  by  one  observer  of  our  experiments  at 
Winchester. 


MAY-FLIES   IN    MARCH 

(ITCHEN  ABBAS  AND  AVINGTON  PARK) 

"  DAYS  of  promise  "  are  a  common  feature  of  the 
English  spring,  when  the  rough  winds  sink  and  shift 
into  the  west,  and  the  cold  rain  draws  odours  from  the 
earth,  and  song  from  the  birds,  that  remind  us  that 
winter  is  left  behind.  Even  then  the  response  of 
Nature  is  as  hesitating  and  uncertain  as  the  shifting 
moods  of  the  March  sky  ;  and  the  influences  which 
appeal  to  man  seem  too  subtle  or  too  transient  to 
change  the  winter  habits  of  birds  or  beasts. 

Far  different  is  the  result  of  the  first  really  hot  days 
of  early  spring.  When  such  weather  comes  in  the 
middle  of  March,  and  lasts  for  more  than  a  day,  it 
affects  all  wild  animals  like  some  beneficent  spell. 
The  physical  contrast  of  summer  and  winter,  marching, 
as  it  seems,  hand  in  hand,  is  alone  almost  sufficient  to 
account  for  the  change.  The  night  frosts  are  forgotten 
in  the  heated  air,  which  dances  over  the  withered 
grass  ;  yet  the  dust,  scattered  in  the  high-road,  falls  on 
ice-covered  pools  in  the  shadow  of  the  fence  ;  and  the 


138     HAMPSHIRE  STREAMS  AND    WOODLANDS 

tortoise-shell  butterflies,  which  flit  from  side  to  side  of 
the  lane,  alight  alternately  on  leaves  and  twigs  powdered 
here  with  dust,  there  with  crystals  of  hoar-frost. 

The  scene  in  the  water-meadows  at  Itchen  Abbas, 
above  Winchester,  on  such  a  day  in  March  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  hot  dry  spring  of  1893,  was  in  strange 
contrast  to  that  presented  by  the  wintry  waters  in  their 
setting  of  iron-bound  earth  and  icicle-fringe  during  the 
great  frosts  at  the  opening  of  the  year.  Then  the 
warm  and  life-giving  river  supported  by  its  bounty 
thousands  of  strange  and  suffering  birds,  forced  by 
hunger  to  leave  their  native  haunts,  and  to  seek  food 
by  the  still  unfrozen  stream.  Now  the  river  and  its 
valley  was  peopled,  not  by  hungry  strangers,  but  by  all 
the  wild  creatures  native  to  this  chosen  spot,  not 
struggling  for  existence,  but  enjoying  the  most 
complete  form  of  happiness  known  to  animal  life, — 
warmth,  quiet,  security,  and  plenty.  There  is,  perhaps, 
no  district  in  the  South  of  England  where  Nature  has 
done  so  much  for  man  as  in  the  upper  valley  of  the 
Itchen.  The  downs  on  either  side  shelter  it  from 
rough  winds,  the  parks  and  villages  at  their  feet  form  a 
continuous  line  of  garden  and  spreading  timber,  and  at 
this  season  of  the  year  the  visitor  may  walk  for  miles 
without  ceasing  to  hear  the  cawing  of  the  nesting  rooks. 
Rooks  are  still  "  free  selectors "  in  our  old-world 
country,  and  their  presence  is  a  guarantee  that  the  land 
is  good  enough  not  only  for  man,  but  for  the  most  civil- 
ized and  critical  of  bird-kind.  But  the  exuberant  life 
of  the  valley  is  supported,  not  by  the  timbered  parks 


MAY-FLIES  IN  MARCH  139 

or  rich  gardens  under  the  hills,  but  by  the  great  chalk- 
stream,  which,  like  the  river  of  Egypt,  winds  through 
the  centre  of  the  land,  and  distributes  its  waters  in  a 
thousand  swift  and  shining  streams  over  the  thirsty 
meadows  on  its  banks.  There,  while  the  grass  upon 
the  hill-sides  is  still  grey  and  sere,  the  hay  already 
shows  half  a  crop,  and  the  wide  green  blades  seem  to 
suck  up  the  moisture  visibly  from  the  streams  which 
trickle  through  their  waving  stems.  Each  furrow  is  a 
flooded  watercourse,  not  stagnant  and  foul,  like  the 
muddy  drains  of  Eastern  fens,  but  bright  and  swiftly 
flowing,  a  miniature  of  the  great  chalk-stream  itself. 
Where  the  valley  narrows,  as  at  the  bridge  of  Itchen 
Abbas,  opposite  the  tall  limes  and  avenues  of  Avington 
Park,  the  teeming  life  of  the  river  and  its  vale  may  be 
viewed  at  close  quarters.  There,  as  the  strange  and 
sudden  heat  of  the  March  sun  burnt  and  increased,  and 
the  yellow  coltsfoot  flowers  spread  their  petals  wide, 
like  arms  and  bosoms,  to  the  rays,  we  watched  the 
whole  wild-life  of  the  valley  abandon  itself  to  the 
sense  of  exquisite  happiness  given  by  the  first  burst  of 
light  and  heat  in  the  year. 

Those  who  would  blame  man  for  his  interference 
with  Nature  should  at  least  give  him  credit  for  build- 
ing the  water-mill,  with  its  dam  and  mill-stream,  its 
foaming  "  tumbling  bay,"  its  weir  and  double  bridges. 
The  result  at  Itchen  Abbas  is  to  divide  the  river  into  a 
wide  and  dancing  shallow,  studded  with  sedgy  islands 
above  the  mill,  while  below  the  two  streams  unite  in 
a  swift  and  rushing  current.  The  islands  and  reaches 


i4o    HAMPSHIRE  STREAMS  AND    WOODLANDS 

above  the  bridge  are  the  chosen  home  of  wild-fowl  ; 
the  pool  below  a  very  paradise  of  monstrous  Hamp- 
shire trout.  Up  till  mid-day  the  wild-fowl  were  still 
feeding,  or  moving  from  one  part  of  the  marsh  to 
another.  Two  or  three  pairs  of  dabchicks  were  busy 
diving  just  above  the  bridge,  their  plumage  almost 
black,  and  looking,  when  they  appeared  as  if  by  magic 
on  the  surface,  as  if  clothed  in  velvet.  Moorhens  and 
coots  swam  out  from  the  sedges,  the  former  in  their 
best  summer  suits,  with  beaks  red  as  sealing-wax,  and 
neat  white  borders  to  their  tails,  crossing  the  river  with 
that  peculiar  ducking  and  jerking  motion  of  the  head 
which  distinguishes  them  from  all  other  fowl  upon  the 
water.  But  at  midday  the  sun  asserted  his  dominion 
even  over  the  water-fowl.  For  some  time  the  land- 
birds  had  been  flying  in  from  the  hot  and  dusty  hills, 
and  settling  in  the  water-meadows  to  drink,  feed,  and 
wash  themselves.  First,  a  pair  of  partridges  came 
skimming  over  the  road,  and  dropped  among  the  dry 
flags  on  one  of  the  islands  in  the  stream.  Then  a  flock 
of  plover  came  floating  down,  one  by  one,  just  clearing 
the  gables  of  the  mill,  and  settled  in  the  water-meadow 
beyond,  where  they  first  drank  from  a  shallow  rill,  and 
then  bathed  elaborately.  The  flutter  and  splash  of  the 
black-and-white  pinions  was  clearly  visible,  until  their 
toilet  was  completed  by  running  up  and  down  on  the 
bank  with  wings  expanded  to  the  sun  and  wind.  Then 
the  rooks  came  down  to  drink,  one  by  one,  and  a  pair 
of  wood-pigeons  followed  ;  but  the  birds  had  come,  not 
merely  to  bathe  or  satisfy  their  thirst,  but  to  stay. 


MAY-FLIES  IN  MARCH  141 

Plovers,  pigeons,  and  rooks  settled  themselves  down 
upon  the  grass,  drooped  their  wings,  stretched  their 
feet,  and  lay  basking  in  the  sun.  For  rooks,  the  most 
industrious  of  birds,  to  abandon  themselves  to  complete 
idleness  and  sleep  at  midday  is,  so  far  as  the  writer's 
experience  goes,  a  most  unusual  indulgence.  Not  till 
the  day's  work  is  over,  and  the  low  sun  is  lighting  up 
the  elm-tops,  do  the  rooks  allow  themselves  to  take  a 
brief  hour's  gossip  and  idling,  and  then  only  before  the 
young  are  hatched.  As  it  was,  one  pair,  who  had  been 
busy  close  by  nest-building  in  the  earlier  hours,  kept 
up  appearances  long  after  the  rest  had  yielded  to  the 
drowsy  influence  of  the  sudden  heat.  The  hen  flew  up 
to  the  nest  and  pretended  to  "sit,"  though  the  eggs 
were  not  yet  laid  ;  while  the  cock-bird,  who  was  bask- 
ing on  the  grass  below,  started  up  at  intervals,  as  some 
comrade  flew  overhead,  and  pretended  to  be  looking  for 
food  with  a  sham  earnestness  most  comical  to  behold. 
Meantime,  the  water- fowl  were  fast  leaving  the  river 
for  the  meadows,  in  order  to  enjoy  to  the  full  the  genial 
warmth.  An  old  mallard  stole  quietly  from  one  of  the 
water-channels,  and,  after  standing  with  his  green  head 
erect  to  reconnoitre  for  some  minutes,  he  lay  down  on 
the  grass,  turned  on  his  side,  and  slept  as  tranquilly  as 
a  farmyard  duck.  One  or  two  other  mallards  followed 
his  example,  each  lying  down  on  the  highest  point  of 
the  ridge  between  the  water- cuts,  like  a  hare  in  its  form. 
An  old  gander,  who  with  his  mate  was  swimming  in 
the  mill-stream,  took  a  walk  in  the  road,  and  finding 
that  the  warmth  was  to  his  liking,  flew  back  in  a  hurry, 


1 42     HAMPSHIRE  STREAMS  AND    WOODLANDS 

and  after  some  conversation  both  climbed  the  bank,  and 
went  off  in  a  vast  hurry  to  the  strawyard,  where  they 
also  composed  themselves  to  sleep.  By  this  time  every 
one  of  the  larger  birds  in  sight  was  dozing,  and  the 
writer  so  far  followed  their  example  as  to  move  to  the 
sunny  side  of  an  old  brick  bridge,  and  there,  with  the 
warm  wall  behind,  and  the  shining  river  in  front,  to 
watch  the  trout,  and  lunch.  The  sun  was  at  its  hottest, 
when  a  whole  flock  of  chaffinches  came  hawking  down 
the  river,  in  eager  pursuit  of  something  which  had  not, 
till  then,  appeared  upon  the  scene.  We  looked,  and 
there  over  the  surface  of  the  water  were  hundreds  of 
"  May-flies,"  hatched  by  the  sudden  heat.  Of  course 
they  were  not  true  "  May-flies  "  ;  but  for  all  that  they 
were  true  Ephemeridce^  with  long  white  tails  and 
transparent  wings,  "  March  browns,"  we  believe,  in  the 
language  of  the  fly-fisher.  Poor  creatures  !  What 
with  the  chaffinches  above,  and  the  greedy  trout  in  the 
water  below,  even  their  brief  day  was  shortened.  The 
trout  were  in  ecstasies.  Before  the  appearance  of  the 
swarm,  they  had  been  leaping  from  the  water  in  sheer 
exuberance  at  the  fine  weather.  Now  they  settled  down 
to  the  serious  business  of  eating.  Not  ducklings  and 
early  peas,  strawberries  in  February,  ortolans  in  vine- 
leaves,  or  the  first  plovers'  eggs,  could  move  the  epicure 
so  deeply  as  the  first  dish  of  early  "  May-flies "  in 
March  touched  the  imagination  of  the  Hampshire 
trout.  The  fish  lay  in  lines  across  the  river,  each  in 
his  favourite  part  of  the  stream,  like  sportsmen  in  a 
row  of  grouse-butts.  Constant  quick  rises — just  a 


WINTRY   WATERS  143 

ripple,  as  the  broad  nose,  followed  by  the  back  fin,  and 
a  triton  curve  of  the  tail,  broke  the  surface  of  the  water 
— showed  where  each  struggling  fly  met  its  fate.  The 
flies  then  vanished  as  suddenly  as  they  had  appeared, 
and  the  dinner  of  the  trout  was  over. 


T44 


THE   WOODLANDS   IN   MAY 

THOSE  whom  choice  or  fortune  has  led  to  spend  a 
fine  May  day  in  the  deep  woodlands  of  the  south,  will 
have  learnt  to  prize  the   unrivalled  splendour  of  the 
English   spring,  when  lasting   and   unbroken   sunshine 
has  called  every  tree   and  bush,  from  the  oak  to  the 
trailing  sweetbriar,  into  leaf  together,  and  the  beauty 
of  the  woodlands  appeals  to  the  senses  with  a  force  and 
freshness  which  the  maturer  months  of  summer  foliage 
can  never  weaken  nor  efface  from  the  memory.     There 
is  an  unwritten  law  in  some  of  the  villages  of  America 
that  on  a  certain  day  every  able-bodied  inhabitant  shall 
go  forth,  and  not  return,  until  on  land,  either  set  apart 
or  otherwise  suitable  for  the  purpose,  he  has  planted  a 
tree.     Now,  if  ever,  such  an  example  of  the  duty  of 
man  to  Nature  should    appeal    to    every  Englishman. 
Even    though  the   craze   for  destroying  the   beautiful 
hedge-row  timber,  which,  massed  in  the  distance,  makes 
the  foreigner  believe  that  he  is  for  ever  approaching  a 
forest,  which  for   ever  recedes  before   him,  no   longer 
forms    part  of  the    enlightened    farmer's   creed,  there 
are  still  many  counties  which  the  axe  has  left  treeless 
and   bare ;    where   the    countryman  never  sees  a  real 


,  THE    WOODLANDS  IN  MA  Y  145 

wood,  or  knows  the  delight  of  walking  for  hours 
where  the  low  sky  never  shows  between  the  distant 
trunks,  and  the  sound  of  the  labour  of  the  field  does 
not  penetrate.  Yet  there  are  still  many  counties  rich 
in  forest  scenery,  even  in  the  south  ;  and  there  is  no 
need  to  visit  the  famous  cluster  of  great  estates  in 
the  Midlands,  where  the  woods  of  Clumber,  Welbeck, 
and  Mansfield  unite  to  cover  the  site  of  the  old 
Sherwood  Forest  with  an  unbroken  tract  of  woodland, 
in  order  to  realize  the  full-dress  beauty  of  the  early 
spring.  Hampshire,  for  example,  may  claim,  apart 
from  the  New  Forest  area,  a  foremost  place  among  the 
woodland  counties  of  the  south.  Of  its  million  acres, 
a  hundred  thousand  are  covered  by  permanent  and 
ancient  wood,  not  sprinkled  in  scattered  patches,  but 
deep  and  connected  areas  of  trees  and  copse,  in  which 
timber,  large  and  small,  is  regarded  as  the  staple  crop, 
with  stated  times  for  cutting  and  harvest,  equally  with 
the  produce  of  the  meadow  or  the  field.  Trees  are 
native  to  the  soil.  On  the  uplands  between  the  deep 
and  fertile  valleys  of  the  Itchen  and  the  Test,  the 
transition  from  natural  woodland  to  the  spreading 
forests,  which  owe  their  present  form  to  human  care, 
may  yet  be  traced.  The  down  stands  thick  with 
ancient  and  self-sown  hawthorns,  fragrant  with  the 
heavy  perfume  of  the  May-blossom,  and  interspersed 
with  tall  patches  of  gorse  and  feathery  birch,  among 
which  the  partridges  nest,  and  the  young  plovers, 
driven  by  the  drought  from  the  open  downs,  seek  food 
and  shelter.  In  the  woodlands  beyond,  each  and  every 


146     HAMPSHIRE  STREAMS  AND    WOODLANDS 

tree  and  shrub  to  be  found  in  the  southern  counties  is 
in  its  full  raiment  of  young  and  tender  leaf.     Even 
the  ashes  have  burst  their  black  buds,  and  the  flower- 
clusters    hang    like    bunches   of  keys  thick    upon  the 
branches.     The  maples  are  in  flower  ;  the  cotton  buds 
of  the    broad-leafed  willow   are  rolling   on  the  paths 
before  the  wind  ;  the  young  oak-leaves  are  crisp  and 
curling  ;  the  ground-oaks  show  clusters  of  longer  leaves 
of  flesh-colour  and  green  ;  the  white-beam  glistens  with 
grey  and  silver,  and  flat  white  flowers  ;  the  beech-buds 
have  dropped  their  brown  night-caps,  and  the  sun  has 
smoothed  out  the  creases  ;  the  elm  branches  are  covered 
with    almost    summer   drapery,  and   the  senses  are   at 
once  stirred  and  soothed  by  the  ripple  of  the  light  air 
over  the  foliage,  and  the  fresh  smell  of  young  green 
leaves.     Beneath  the  timber-trees  the  copse- wood  grows 
so  strangely   thick  and  strong,  that  a  hundred  stems 
seem  to  spring  from  every  crown,  and  arching  upwards 
and  outwards,  meet  and  overlap  to  form  a  continuous 
roof  of  clustering  foliage,  various  in  kind,  but  alike  in 
strength    and    vigour.       In    the    low    lanes    beneath, 
cloistered  by  this  natural  canopy,  stretches   in  endless 
lines  the  flower-garden  of  the  forest.     Every  foot  of 
ground  between  the  tree-stems  and  coppice-clusters  is 
set  thick  with  dark-blue   hyacinths  ;  and  if  we  stoop 
and  look  up  the  long  corridors  between  the  thickets, 
with  roofs  so  low  that  nothing  larger  than  a  fox  could 
thread  them,  the  distance  merges  into  a  level  sheet  of 
purple.     Over  hills   and  valleys,  banks  and  glens,  the 
hyacinths  spread,  with  no  difference  in  number  or  size, 


THE    WOODLANDS  IN  MA  Y  147 

except  that  in  the  open  spaces  where  the  copse  was 
felled  last  winter  the  spikes  are  taller  and  richer  in 
scent  and  colour.  Where  the  clay  crops  up,  the 
hyacinths  are  mixed  with  primroses,  small,  but  strongly 
perfumed,  set  as  in  a  garden,  in  cushioned  beds  of  moss. 
Standing  on  the  hill-side  at  the  margin  of  the  wood, 
and  facing  the  wind  which  blows  over  miles  of  similar 
forest- ground,  the  air  sweeps  by  us  fresh  and  clear,  yet 
loaded  with  the  perfume  from  hundreds  of  acres  of  this 
hyacinth-garden,  like  the  scent  of  asphodels  from  the 
Elysian  fields. 

In  spring,  while  the  sap  is  still  running  upwards, 
these  woods  are  as  silent  and  deserted  by  man  as  the 
wheat-fields  in  June.  The  fallen  timber  lies  ready  for 
carting  ;  but  the  grindstone  stands  dry  with  rusted 
handle,  until  wanted  to  sharpen  the  axes  in  autumn, 
and  the  young  fern  and  flowers  are  twining  among  the 
stacked  faggots  and  piles  of  wattle  hurdles,  which 
will  not  be  moved  till  the  fall  of  the  leaf.  There  are 
few  or  no  villages  in  the  forest-country.  The'  homes 
of  the  woodlanders  are  scattered  and  remote,  and,  when 
found,  present  a  strange  and  pleasing  contrast  to  those 
of  the  labourers  in  the  cultivated  country.  For  the 
former,  the  choice  of  site  has  not  been  limited  by  the 
artificial  value  which  accrues  to  land  in  the  neighbour- 
hood even  of  the  smallest  village,  and  too  often  robs 
the  labourer's  cottage  of  the  light  and  space  which 
should  be  a  countryman's  birthright.  The  woodman 
has  usually  been  a  "  free  selector  "  in  the  choice  of  his 
dwelling-place,  and  it  needs  a  wide  acquaintance  with 


i48    HAMPSHIRE  STREAMS  AND    WOODLANDS 

these  sylvan  homes  to  weaken  the  first  and  natural 
impression  that  each  and  every  one  of  these  solitary 
cottages  enjoy  some  peculiar  and  accidental  advantage 
of  setting  and  surrounding  to  which  it  owes  its  charm. 
The  real  reason  for  their  beauty  and  their  comfort  is 
not  far  to  seek.  The  cottage  was  built  where  it  stands 
only  because  Nature  had  marked  out  the  spot  as  a 
natural  home  for  man.  Shelter  from  the  wind,  water 
for  the  pony  and  cattle,  a  patch  of  good  soil  for  a 
garden,  and  a  glade  of  green  grass  for  the  cow  to  graze 
upon,  may  be  all  found  together  for  the  seeking  in  the 
wide  woodlands  ;  and  the  spot  where  a  company  of 
hurdle-makers  choose  to  light  their  mid- day  fire,  and 
raise  a  faggot-shelter  in  the  winter,  soon  sees  the 
growth  of  the  woodman's  home.  A  little  reflection 
soon  shows  the  reason,  and  even  the  necessity r,  for  the 
beauty  of  the  whole.  The  water  in  the  little  stream 
was  the  first  condition  of  the  building  of  the  house. 
The  stream  made  the  rustic  bridge  necessary,  and  its 
own  moisture  decorated  the  under-side  of  the  planks 
with  moss  and  tiny  ferns.  The  ancient  trees,  with  the 
close  turf  under  them,  are  not  accidental  either.  The 
woodman  wanted  a  few  rods  of  pasture,  and  found  it 
where  the  spreading  oaks  and  sycamores  had  killed  the 
undergrowth  below.  His  orchard  flourishes,  and  fallen 
apple-blossom  smothers  the  garden-plot,  for  where  the 
oak  grows  there  the  apple  grows  also,  and  the  autumns 
of  centuries  have  enriched  the  ground  with  vegetable 
mould.  The  woodlands  are  the  poor  man's  best  home  ; 
and  while  Nature  gives  the  stream,  the  tiny  park  and 


THE    WOODLANDS  IN  MA  Y  149 

paddock,  the  good  soil,  and  the  fostering  shelter  of  the 
forest,  the  owner  himself  is  seldom  backward  to  use 
the  sylvan  gifts.  His  work  among  the  timber  makes 
him  master  of  the  use  of  woodman's  tools,  and  the 
split-oak  fence  of  his  garden,  and  the  well-built  sheds 
for  cattle  and  stock,  show  a  sense  for  order  and  good 
workmanship  in  strong  contrast  to  the  makeshift 
shanties  around  the  field-labourer's  cottage.  In  his 
daily  fare  he  still  tastes  the  forest  dainties  which  have 
for  ages  been  regarded  as  his  right — 

"  I'll  show  thee  the  best  springs  ;  I'll  pluck  thee  berries  ; 
I'll  fish  for  thee,  and  get  thee  wood  enough ; 
Show  thee  a  jay's  nest  and  instruct  thee  how 
To  snare  the  nimble  marmozet ;  I'll  bring  thee 
To  clust'ring  filberts,  and  sometimes  I'll  get  thee 
Young  scamels  from  the  rock," 

says  the  woodland  monster  in  The  Tempest.  The 
forest  children  are  adepts  in  these,  as  in  other  forms  of 
woodcraft,  and  bring  in  tribute  of  brook-trout,  young 
wood-pigeons,  mushrooms,  and  wild  fruits  to  the 
cottage  table, — sylvan  gifts.  The  woodland  children, 
and  even  the  woodland  dogs,  seem  to  feel  the  influence 
of  the  quiet  and  loneliness  of  their  lives.  Both  seem 
to  long  for  human  society  and  human  sympathy,  and  the 
little  sons  and  daughters  of  the  cottage,  with  their  dog 
companions,  are  happy  and  content  to  lie  down  and  wait 
near  the  temporary  resting-place  of  visitors  to  the  woods, 
the  children  amusing  themselves  by  weaving  wreaths  of 
moss  and  flowers,  and  asking  no  more  proof  of  good-will 
than  that  implied  in  a  kindly  toleration  of  their  presence. 


THE   BUDS  AND   BLOSSOM    OF    TREES 

"  A  belt  of  straw  and  ivy  buds 
With  coral  clasps  and  amber  studs." 

THOSE  who  live  among  the  woodlands  maintain  that 
to  know  the  beauty  of  trees  they  should  be  watched 
from  the  first  day  of  the  New  Year.  To  wait  till  the 
young  leaves  clothe  the  branches  is  to  miss  half  the 
early  graces  of  the  woods  ;  for  the  trees,  like  the  sun- 
burnt maidens  of  the  Southern  Sea,  wear  ornament 
before  drapery,  and  lightly  wreathe  their  limbs  with 
beads  and  coral  stars  and  studs,  little  coquettish  jewels, 
like  shells  and  flowers,  and,  like  them,  often  thrown 
away  before  the  day  is  done,  or  exchanged  for  orna- 
ment more  lasting  and  complete. 

Nothing  in  the  full  foliage  of  summer  is  more 
beautiful  than  the  early  buds  and  blossom  of  trees  ; 
yet  no  "  flower  of  the  field  "  is  more  often  doomed  to 
blush  unseen.  The  gaze,  which  is  at  once  bent  down 
towards  the  crocus  or  the  primrose,  is  seldom  raised  to 
the  crimson  blossoms  which  now  cover  the  tops  of  the 
elms  like  drops  of  ruby  rain,  or  to  the  pendent  blos- 
soms of  the  poplars,  the  little  golden  brushes  on  the 


THE  BUDS  AND  BLOSSOM  OF  TREES      151 

ash,  or  the  pink  flowers  which  stud  the  larch  boughs 
like  sea-anemones.  These  are  blossoms  which  appear 
on  the  naked  limbs  of  trees.  Later,  among  the  young 
leaves  of  the  oak  and  sycamore,  the  bunches  of  pale- 
yellow  bloom  are  confused  with  the  young  leaf ;  and  it 
is  not  till  the  ground  below  the  last  is  piled  with 
golden,  dustlike  petals  that  we  wonder  whence  they 
came,  and  what  the  flower  was  like  that  bore  them. 

One  only  among  the  hundred  buds  of  trees  is  well 
known,  and  used  for  ornament  in  England — the 
"  palms " — which  are  gathered  by  every  stream  and 
pond  the  week  before  Palm  Sunday.  Even  they  have 
as  many  phases  of  beauty  as  the  rose  ; — first,  the  tiny 
pearl-like  studs  of  satin-white  ;  then  egg-shaped  buds 
bound  in  grey  plush  like  the  lining  of  an  opera-cloak  ; 
and  lastly,  rounded  golden  thimbles,  set  with  tiny 
blossoms.  Or  to  follow  the  fancy  of  the  Cheshire 
children,  the  young  buds  are  the  goose's-eggs,  and  the 
golden  flowers  the  goslings,  hatched  by  the  hot  March 
sun,  and  bending  to  the  river.  But  the  beauty  of  the 
buds  of  trees  is  almost  invisible  against  the  sky.  They 
are  lifted  too  far  from  the  eye,  and  their  forms  are  too 
minute  and  their  colours  too  pale  to  break  across  the 
line  of  sight  and  play  a  part  in  broad  effects  of  sylvan 
beauty.  To  be  appreciated  in  mass  the  buds  of  trees 
must  be  viewed  from  above,  from  the  opposite  side  of 
a  glen,  or  in  a  copse  below  the  observer.  In  the  deep 
woods  which  cluster  at  the  foot  of  the  Hind  Head,  in 
the  broken  hollows  near  Haslemere,  the  millions  of 
buds  and  catkins  so  pervade  the  upper  level  of  the 


152     HAMPSHIRE  STREAMS  AND    WOODLANDS 

copse  that  the  distant  trees  seem  to  rise  through  vapour 
and   smoke.     Nearer,   the    smoke   resolves   itself  into 
motionless  flakes  of  white  or  grey,  dotting  each  upright 
wand    and    branch    like    seed-pearls    sewn  on  a  velvet 
scabbard.     But  at  a  distance    the  whole  wood    seems 
blurred  with  motionless  puffs  of  white  vapour,  merging 
in  the  distance  into  a  greyish  haze.     Plunge  into  the 
copse,  and  the  source  and  shape  of  the  misty  mirage  is 
explained.     Every  clump  of  underwood  is  studded  with 
bud  or  blossom,  though  hardly  a  leaf  is  out  from  fence 
to  fence.     The  catkins  of  the  hazel  and  the  tiny  pink 
star-fish  flowers  are   almost  over,  but  the  cornel  buds 
are  formed  and  the  masses  of  blackthorn  are  powdered 
over  with  tight  little  globes  no  larger  than  a  mustard- 
seed,  in  which  lies  packed  the  embryo  blossom.     The 
black-poplars    are    still    as    leafless    as  in   the  bitterest 
December  frosts  ;   but   their  topmost   twigs  have  lost 
their   rigid    look   and    are    decked    with    little  funeral 
plumes  of  sooty-black  flower.     At  all  the  joints  of  the 
woodbine  green  buds  are  peeping  out  in  pairs,  and  on 
the  sunny  edges  of  the  copses  the  dog-rose  is  opening 
its  leaves  to  the  wind  and  frost.     The  elder  is  the  only 
other  native  tree  in  leaf  so  early,  though  why  this,  the 
softest  and  weakest  of  the    woodland    shrubs,   should 
share  with  the  climbing  woodbine  and  rose  the  honour 
of  being  the  first  to  wear  the  colours  of  spring,  is  still 
among  the  secrets  of  the  wood.     On  the  wild-cherries 
the  flower-clusters  are  shown  in  miniature  globes,  which 
stud  the  upper  branches  with  whity-brown  knobs  and 
clusters,  and  the  Lombardy  poplars,  as  yet  leafless  and 


THE  BUDS  AND  BLOSSOM   OF  TREES     153 

dry,  have  a  false  foliage  of  splendid  crimson  catkins, 
which  lie  tumbled,  like  crimson  and  yellow  caterpillars, 
upon  the  ground  below.  But  the  buds  of  the  willows 
are  the  main  feature  in  the  phase  of  beauty  in  the 
woodlands  in  March  which  precedes  the  bursting  of  the 
leaf.  The  tall  osier  rods  are  of  all  colours,  grey  and 
green,  yellow  and  scarlet,  maroon  and  black,  and  these, 
from  root  to  top,  are  studded  with  white  satin  buds. 
The  most  beautiful  of  all  have  a  deep  purple  bark 
which  shines  with  a  polish  like  Chinese  lac,  against 
which  the  velvet-white  of  the  buds  stands  out  in 
perfect  contrast  of  texture  as  well  as  of  colour. 

It  is  these  beautiful  and  exactly  placed  ornaments 
that  make  the  silver  haze  in  the  woods  before  Palm 
Sunday  ;  and  it  is  perhaps  of  their  silver  fleeces  that 
Shelley  thought  when  he  wrote  of  the  spring — 

"Driving  sweet  buds  \\keflocks  to  feed  in  air." 

In  the  sunny  March  mornings,  when  the  sun  is 
up  at  seven,  and  a  choice  band  of  native  songbirds, 
the  thrush,  the  blackbird,  the  robin  and  the  hedge- 
sparrow,  are  singing  their  pertest  and  loudest,  un- 
challenged by  a  single  note  of  song  from  the  earliest  of 
the  warblers  from  beyond  the  seas,  every  tree  shows 
some  slight,  half-hinted  shadow  of  spring  change.  It 
is  like  the  change  of  breathing  as  sleep  is  ending,  or 
the  swelling  of  wetted  grain.  At  every  joint,  and 
at  the  end  of  every  twig,  there  is  ever  so  slight  a 
swelling  of  the  bud  ;  and  though  the  change  of  shape 
and  colour  in  each  is  hardly  discernible  till  held  in 


i54    HAMPSHIRE  STREAMS  AND    WOODLANDS 

the  hand,  the  multiplied  myriads  of  tiny  curves  change 
the  whole  aspect  of  the  tree.  In  the  sycamore,  the 
points  of  the  lower  buds  are  slipping  from  their  sheaths, 
like  long  green  olives  of  Italy.  The  downy  sumach 
tips  are  rough  with  swelling  knobs,  the  laburnums 
are  flecked  with  silver-grey,  and  even  on  the  planes, 
where  last  year's  fruit  still  hangs,  the  buds  are  swelling. 
But  perhaps  the  most  beautiful  of  all  are  the  sprays 
of  the  hawthorn.  Where  each  thorn  leaves  the  stem, 
a  tiny,  gemlike  globe  has  appeared  upon  the  bark, 
laced  on  the  sides  with  green  and  gold,  and  tipped 
with  rosy  carmine.  The  sharp  thorn  mounts  guard 
above  it,  and  protects  it  from  harm, — one  thorn  to 
a  bud,  all  the  tree  over.  But  where  the  young  shoots 
end — where  there  is  no  protecting  spear — there  the 
buds  are  clustered,  that  if  one  fail  another  may  take 
its  place. 

It  is  true  of  most  English  woods  and  gardens  that 
the  larger  the  tree  the  smaller  is  its  flower.  Few 
people  could  describe  the  blossom  of  the  oak,  or  trace 
its  change  from  the  tiny  pale-green  flower  to  the 
infant  acorn,  in  its  miniature  cup  no  bigger  than 
an  ivy-berry ;  or  paint  from  memory  the  flower- 
clusters  which  nestle  among  the  beech-leaves  in  early 
June.  Except  the  horse-chestnut,  we  have  no  native 
flowering  timber-tree  to  take  the  place  of  the  tulip- 
tree  of  North  America,  or  the  mimosa  groves  of  the 
African  plains.  Yet  the  tulip-tree,  with  its  broad, 
flat-headed  leaves,  and  fine  orange  blossoms,  like  single 
inverted  bells  of  the  crown  imperial,  will  flourish  like 


THE  BUDS  AND  BLOSSOM  OF  TREES      155 

the  poplars  in  an  English  garden  or  hedgerow,  and 
is  far  more  useful  as  timber  than  the  quick-growing 
and  ornamental  abele.  We  need  another  flowering 
tree.  Even  the  blossoms  of  the  lime  would  be  less 
seen  and  admired  were  it  not  for  their  scent  and  the 
attraction  which  they  offer  to  the  bees.  Were  the 
flowers  of  oak  and  elm,  of  poplar  and  of  fir  dependent 
on  the  bees,  rather  than  on  the  wind,  for  fertilization 
and  the  carriage  of  the  pollen  from  flower  to  flower, 
they  would  be  better  known  and  appreciated  than  they 
are.  But  the  pines  at  least  attract  the  early  bees.  In 
the  hot  spring  of  1893,  the  upright  spikes  of  yellow, 
clustering  flowers  on  the  Austrian  pines  were  crowded 
with  the  working  bees,  which  laboured  among  the 
dusty  piles  till  their  bodies  were  covered  with  pollen, 
like  flour-porters  in  the  docks.  The  blossoms  of  the 
silver  firs,  the  "  balm  of  Gilead "  of  rural  botanists, 
usually  borne  so  high  on  the  lofty  summits  that  no 
bee  would  soar  to  reach  them,  studded  even  the  lower 
branches,  and  revealed  to  ground-walking  mortals  a 
new  feature  of  the  flower-garden  which  lies  in  the 
upper  storeys  of  the  woods.  Now  that  the  pear  and  the 
cherry,  the  peach  and  plum,  the  apple  and  the  quince, 
and,  above  all,  the  early  and  beautiful  almond,  are  once 
more  hastening  into  blossom,  can  we  not  take  a  lesson 
from  Japan,  and  plant,  not  in  isolated  trees,  but  in 
orchards  and  groves,  the  double  plum,  and  the  pink- 
flowering  cherry,  which,  for  a  few  weeks,  will  fill  our 
parks  and  gardens  with  the  blossom  and  colour  which 
even  March  winds  cannot  kill  ? 


ROUND  THE  GREAT  WHITE  HORSE 


THE   LOST   FALCON 

IT  was  three  o'clock  on  a  winter  afternoon.  The  air 
was  filled  with  frost-sounds — of  twigs  snapping,  and  ice 
tinkling  as  it  formed  and  fell.  On  the  lawn  lay  the 
limbs  of  an  ancient  cedar,  snapped  by  the  weight  of 
snow.  Hard  by,  on  her  block  of  pinewood,  sat  a 
trained  falcon,  her  plumage  compact  and  glossy. 
Though  indifferent  to  the  cold,  she  moved  impatiently 
from  time  to  time,  jangling  the  tiny  Indian  bell  upon 
her  ankle.  Feeding-time  was  near,  and  her  appetite 
was  sharpened  by  the  frosty  air.  As  we  watched  the 
bird  a  great  white  owl  flapped,  moth-like,  across  the 
open — perhaps  disturbed  before  her  time,  or  dis- 
appointed in  her  catch  of  mice  the  previous  night. 
The  hawk  caught  sight  of  her  also,  and  instantly 
changed  her  attitude.  In  general,  though  keenly 
observant  of  every  living  thing  that  passed  her  station, 
she  knew  the  limit  of  her  range.  But  instinct  is 
stronger  than  training.  As  the  owl  passed,  uncertain, 


THE  LOST  FALCON  157 

slow,  bewildered,  the  temptation  was  irresistible. 
Tethered  as  she  was,  the  hawk  raised  her  wings, 
poised  herself  for  an  instant,  and  darted  from  the 
block.  The  leash,  insecurely  fastened,  gave  way,  and 
she  dashed  off  in  chase. 

Falconry  has  many  anxieties  and  disappointments  ; 
but  few  mishaps  occasion  more  concern  than  the  flight 
of  a  hawk  before  the  "jesses,"  or  straps  which  secure 
her  ankles,  have  been  separated.  In  this  case  the  thin 
leather  strap  or  "  leash  "  which  is  used  as  a  tether  was 
still  attached  to  the  jesses  at  one  end.  Consequently 
the  danger  of  her  being  entangled  in  a  tree  or  hung  up 
by  the  heels  to  die  miserably  of  exhaustion  was  in- 
creased. If,  as  was  most  probable,  she  killed  her 
quarry,  she  would  be  likely  to  remain  in  the  enclosed 
country.  But  beyond  and  above  the  village  rose  the 
chalk  hills,  on  the  summit  of  which  she  was  usually 
flown  ;  and  to  these,  if  she  missed  her  prey,  she  would 
probably  direct  her  flight.  On  these  the  danger  from 
trees  was  lessened  ;  for  time  and  the  hand  of  man  have 
robbed  the  downs  of  timber.  Here,  from  the  Vale  of 
the  White  Horse,  commences  the  tract  of  Downs,  the 
great  chalk  plateau  lying  between  Wantage  and  Salis- 
bury, the  land  of  sheep.  Travellers  by  the  Great 
Western  Railway  see  its  outer  wall  between  Didcot  and 
Swindon  and  mark  its  main  bastions,  the  White  Horse 
Hill  and  Lyddington  Castle.  From  the  railroad  it 
appears  like  a  single  range  ;  but  within  this  lies,  ridge 
behind  ridge,  the  mysterious  Down  country — a  land  of 
rounded  outline  and  soft  shadows,  of  shepherds'  huts 


158       ROUND   THE   GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

and  sheepfolds.  Even  in  summer  few  strangers  pene- 
trate this  tract ;  yet,  apart  from  the  charm  of  space  and 
solitude,  it  is  not  without  beauty  and  interest.  Much 
even  of  the  highest  land  has  been  brought  into  cultiva- 
tion ;  but  great  part  has  undergone  no  change.  Here 
for  miles  lies  the  natural  turf,  elastic  yet  compact, 
studded  at  intervals  with  ancient  thorns.  Nor  does  the 
landscape  want  colour  or  the  more  subtle  charm  of 
scent.  The  turf  is  gay  with  unusual  flowers,  recalling 
the  hill-tops  of  more  distant  lands.  A  tiny  gentian 
dyes  broad  patches  a  brilliant  cobalt.  Harebells  and 
blue  campanulas  fleck  the  green  in  contrast  to  the 
yellow  crowsfoot  and  ranunculus.  Blue  butterflies 
match  the  harebells,  yellow  snail- shells  lie  among  the 
crowsfoot.  The  scent  of  wild  thyme  rises  heavy  in  the 
tremulous  heat ;  and  over  all  comes  the  sound  of  many 
sheep-bells.  Nestling  in  the  rounded  hollows  are  rare 
farms,  many  of  which  are  now  occupied  as  training- 
stables.  Not  the  least  celebrated  is  that  of  the  Seven 
Barrows,  surrounded  by  the  graves  of  heroes  "  whose 
souls  went  down  to  Hades"  in  the  great  fight  of 
Ashdown,  when  Saxon  and  Dane  contended  for  the 
mastery.  Here  the  horse  is  still  the  genius  loci,  even 
as  he  was  to  his  ancient  worshippers,  who  cut  his  image 
on  the  great  chalk  hill  hard  by. 

But  snow  and  winter  banish  whatever  of  beautiful 
the  land  once  owned.  Nature's  harmony  is  broken  ; 
nothing  but  a  dull  monotony  of  white  remains. 
Colour  is  gone,  and  scent  and  even  sound,  except 
that  of  the  icy  wind  that  blows  over  the  back  of 


THE  LOST  FALCON  159 

the  great  White  Horse.  All  the  sheep  are  folded  down 
below,  and  even  the  birds  have  disappeared  ;  only  the 
sense  of  space  and  distance  remains  from  summer's 
charms,  as  we  see  Inkpen  Beacon  and  Highclere  loom- 
ing up  in  the  leaden  sky.  Where  a  low  plantation 
skirts  the  road  the  snow  has  drifted  deep,  calling  to 
memory  an  incident  of  the  last  great  snow-storm. 
Here  a  wagon  was  at  last  brought  to  in  the  drift,  and 
the  man  and  boy  who  accompanied  it  lay  out  all  night 
in  the  bitter  frost.  In  the  morning  the  man  with  his 
remaining  strength  unharnessed  the  horses.  Leaving 
one  with  the  boy,  he  mounted  the  other  and  pushed 
through  the  drifts  to  a  shepherd's  hut.  Here  as  the 
warmth  relaxed  his  stiffened  limbs  he  sank  into  a  stupor. 
Meanwhile  the  boy  remained  forgotten  ;  but  the  man's 
torpid  brain  was  awakened  by  the  arrival  of  the  second 
horse,  who  had  followed  his  companion.  Full  of  self- 
reproach,  he  hurried  back  with  the  shepherd  to  the  spot 
where  the  wagon  was  embedded  in  the  drift.  They 
found  the  boy  standing  with  his  hand  still  raised  as 
though  holding  the  rein;  but  the  frost  had  done  its  work. 
Seeing  nothing  of  the  falcon,  we  descended.  On  the 
lower  terrace  of  the  hills  stood  the  homestead,  sur- 
rounded by  corn-ricks  and  cattle-yards  ;  and  as  we 
approached  it  the  absence  of  life  and  sound  upon  the 
hill  was  explained.  The  sheep,  of  course,  were  all  here, 
bedded  down  in  the  warm  pea-straw  ;  the  farm-horses 
also  in  their  cosy  stable,  munching  the  oats  of  idleness. 
But  here  too  were  all  the  birds  of  the  hill  ;  for  here 
only  was  food.  Even  the  turnip-fields  were  covered  by 


160       ROUND    THE    GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

snow,  though  in  one  hard  by  several  coveys  of  partridges 
were  huddled.  Here  were  all  the  rooks.  In  the 
morning  they  had  made  a  combined  attack  upon  a  rick, 
and  stripped  the  thatch.  Now  they  were  hastening  to 
avail  themselves  of  what  light  remained  ;  as  each  black 
robber  left  the  rick  he  carried  off  an  ear  of  corn  to  eat 
in  the  field  adjoining.  But  a  barley-rick  presented  the 
strangest  sight.  The  sides  were  black  with  small  birds 
dragging  out  the  straws  with  desperate  energy  ;  while 
beneath  it  the  ground  was  covered  by  a  fluttering,  rest- 
less, feathery  mass  of  birds,  close-packed,  eager,  palpi- 
tating. The  flock  consisted  of  greenfinches,  yellow- 
hammers,  buntings,  and  chaffinches  ;  the  sparrows  had 
disappeared.  By  this  time  the  light  was  failing,  but 
hunger  was  not  yet  satisfied.  On  a  sudden  the  mass  of 
small  birds  rose  as  a  kestrel  swept  round  the  stack  and 
carried  off  one  of  their  number,  but  instantly  settled 
and  were  once  more  busy.  A  few  minutes  later  a 
covey  of  partridges  pitched  down  at  a  short  distance  ; 
and  after  a  few  anxious  calls,  and  stretching  their  necks 
as  they  reconnoitred  the  ground,  they  scampered  over 
the  snow  to  the  stack.  It  was  pretty  to  watch  them 
fearlessly  attacking  the  grain,  jumping  up  now  and 
then  to  reach  a  tempting  ear,  or  chasing  one  another 
round  the  rick.  Soon  another  covey  joined  them,  and 
afterwards  a  third — all  in  frantic  haste  to  make  the 
most  of  their  opportunity  before  nightfall.  But  by 
this  time  the  light  was  disappearing — warning  us  to 
return  and  make  arrangements  for  recovering  our  falcon 
next  day. 


THE  LOST  FALCON  161 

Next  day  we  again  waded  through  the  snow-drifts  to 
the  crest  of  the  Downs.  Close  to  the  ancient  "  Ridge 
Way"  stood  a  group  of  corn-ricks,  and  round  these 
were  gathered  all  the  birds  of  the  neighbourhood. 
Hundreds  of  rooks  were  on  the  snow  round  the  stacks, 
or  flying  to  and  from  the  ricks.  They  were  attacking 
the  stores  of  grain,  resolute  to  make  the  most  of  the 
only  food  available.  A  great  number  were  clinging  to 
the  sides  of  the  rick  like  martins  under  the  eaves,  and 
while  some  dragged  out  the  straws  (apparently  quite 
aware  that  the  ear  would  be  at  the  other  end),  others 
shelled  out  the  grain  where  they  were.  They  had 
already  made  hollows  a  yard  deep  into  the  stack,  and 
every  minute  made  the  work  easier.  The  snow  for  a 
hundred  yards  around  was  littered  with  the  stolen 
straws.  But  other  and  wiser  rooks  were  "  working  the 
claim  "  in  a  more  thorough  fashion.  They  had  quarried 
through  the  thatch  deep  into  the  stack,  and  were 
crowding  into  the  hole  in  a  black  and  busy  throng,  the 
place  of  those  departing  being  at  once  filled,  with  much 
cawing  and  noise,  by  others  who  were  waiting  en  queue 
all  along  the  ridge  of  the  thatch.  "  Then  there  came 
another  locust,  which  carried  off  another  grain  of  corn," 
was  the  burden  of  the  Eastern  story  that  was  to  last 
for  ever.  But  judging  by  the  hole  already  made  in 
the  stack,  if  for  "  locust  "  we  had  read  "  rook,"  the 
story  would  not  have  been  long  in  coming  to  an  end. 
Presently  we  approached  so  near,  that  the  rooks  rose 
reluctantly  and  flew  off  a  few  score  yards  on  to  the 

snow.     Alarmed   at  the  bustle,  a   covey  of  partridges 

M 


i62        ROUND   THE   GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

which  had  been  feeding  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  rick 
to  that  from  which  we  were  coming,  ran  round  to  see 
what  was  the  matter.  After  reconnoitring  us  for  a 
minute,  they  also  rose  and  flew  a  short  way  off,  where 
they  remained  calling  and  running  about  anxiously 
till  we  should  be  gone.  Some  hurdles  wattled  with 
straw  lay  under  a  shed  near,  and  by  making  a  screen 
of  these  it  was  possible  to  remain  close  by,  yet 
undiscovered. 

Soon  the  birds  began  to  call,  and  then  flew  boldly 
back  to  within  twenty  yards  of  the  barley-rick.  They 
stood  upright,  with  heads  raised  for  a  minute,  and  then 
a  fine  old  cock  rushed  up  to  the  rick,  clucking  in  an 
encouraging  manner  to  the  rest.  These  were  not  slow 
to  join  him,  and  soon  the  whole  covey  to  the  number 
of  eight  were  pulling  straw  out  with  great  energy, 
tugging  and  beating  their  wings  when  the  work  was 
more  than  usually  difficult,  and  often  jumping  up  to 
catch  hold  of  any  straw  which  hung  out  further  than 
the  rest.  Another  covey  flew  up  to  the  other  side  of 
the  rick,  and  the  calling  and  clucking  which  notified 
their  arrival  made  the  first-comers  cease  feeding  for  a 
moment.  The  old  cock  bustled  out  from  under  the 
rick  and  was  instantly  confronted  by  the  leader  of  the 
fresh  covey.  A  fight  seemed  probable,  but  as  their 
respective  families  fraternized  and  began  to  gobble 
barley  together,  the  cock-birds  seemed  to  think  that 
enough  had  been  done  for  honour,  and  were  soon  lead- 
ing the  joint  attack  on  the  grain.  From  our  position 
we  could  see  well  the  beautiful  plumage  of  the  birds, 


THE  LOST  FALCON  163 

which  looked  even  richer  than  usual  on  the  white 
snow  ;  and  the  strength  and  agility  of  the  partridges, 
shown  in  the  difficult  task  they  had  of  dragging  out 
deeply  embedded  straws,  was  very  remarkable. 

Besides  the  rooks  and  partridges,  hundreds  of  smaller 
birds  crowd  round  the  stacks.  On  the  sunny  side,  the 
ground  is  black  with  a  fluttering,  feathery  mass  of 
chaffinches,  with  a  few  linnets  and  greenfinches  among 
them.  After  the  recent  snow  had  lain  upon  the 
ground  for  a  week,  these  poor  little  creatures  became 
so  tame  that  we  could  not  even  drive  them  a  few  yards 
off,  for  the  purpose  of  noting  the  wing-marks  which 
they  leave  when  rising, — perfect  casts  of  the  wing- 
stroke  being  sometimes  left  on  the  soft  snow.  They 
flew  round  us  at  a  distance  of  a  yard  or  so,  and  nothing 
would  induce  them  to  leave  even  for  a  moment  the 
only  spot  where  food  could  be  obtained.  Except  the 
hawks  and  carrion-crows,  none  but  grain-eating  birds 
remain  upon  the  hill.  The  rooks,  which  are  not  solely 
grain-eaters,  do  not  thrive  on  a  corn  diet,  and  are 
obliged  to  cast  up  the  outer  husks  of  the  wheat  and 
barley,  just  as  hawks  and  owls  do  the  bones  and 
feathers  of  birds.  Even  for  those  which,  like  the 
chaffinches  and  greenfinches,  prefer  corn,  it  is  a  hard 
matter  to  find  enough.  In  good  weather,  the  stock  of 
food  is  so  abundant  that  most  land  birds,  except  hawks, 
feed  but  twice  a  day,  early  in  the  morning  and  in  the 
afternoon.  In  the  snow  they  feed  all  day  long.  From 
dawn  till  dark  the  crowd  round  the  stacks  never  lessens, 
and  they  feed  until  even  the  light  reflected  from  the 


164      ROUND   THE   GREAT  WHITE  HORSE 

snow  serves  them  no  longer.  Wood-pigeons,  even  in 
the  deepest  snow,  manage  to  find  seeds  of  some  kind ; 
and  though  their  crops  are  generally  full  of  turnip- 
leaves,  there  is  always  a  mixture  of  some  dark,  shiny 
seeds,  probably  charlock.  Red-legged  partridges  are 
much  distressed  by  snow,  not  for  want  of  food,  for 
they  burrow  down  to  the  turnips  and  eat  both  leaves 
and  roots,  but  because  they  prefer  running  to  flying, 
and  the  snow  sticks  in  heavy  lumps  to  their  feathers. 
In  Suffolk,  where  they  are  common,  the  unfortunate 
redlegs  can  be  caught  by  a  dog,  or  even  by  hand  in 
such  weather,  and  a  heavy  snow  always  thins  their 
numbers  sadly.  Once  the  writer  caught  a  brace  of 
English  partridges  which  had  been  flushed  on  the  other 
side  of  a  valley  and  pitched  in  soft  snow  near  him. 
Instead  of  flying  they  crept  deep  into  the  drift,  and 
made  no  effort  to  escape. 

In  the  gardens  and  meadows  the  soft-billed  birds 
suffer  equally  with  the  hardier  sorts  in  lasting  snow, 
even  though  in  receipt  of  "relief"  from  kind  friends 
in-doors.  When  the  missel-thrushes  come  to  eat  crumbs 
under  the  window,  as  they  have  been  doing  lately,  it  is 
a  sign  that  the  last  yewberry  has  been  eaten,  and  the 
last  thornbush  stripped.  The  tits  suffer  less  than 
other  insect-eating  birds,  because  the  lower  sides  of  the 
branches,  in  the  bark  of  which  they  find  most  of  their 
food,  are  always  bare  of  snow.  The  cheerful  "rap, 
rap,"  of  the  nuthatches  is  still  to  be  heard,  as  they 
crack  the  nuts  they  have  hidden  away  in  better  weather, 
or  stolen  from  the  squirrels.  But  such  times  are  very 


THE  LOST  FALCON  165 

bad  for  the  birds.  Half  the  blackbirds,  thrushes, 
robins,  and  hedge-sparrows  will  die  if  not  regularly  fed, 
even  though  they  spend  all  day  turning  over  the  dead 
leaves  in  the  shrubbery  in  search  of  worms  or  snails. 
A  three  weeks'  frost  is  more  than  they  can  endure, 
and  already  the  thrushes  are  dying  fast.  But  in  great 
frosts,  as  a  rule,  those  birds  which  stay  with  us  run  less 
risk  than  those  which  fly  before  the  storm.  Birds  have 
no  agencies  to  tell  them  the  limits  of  the  frost  and 
snow  ;  and  too  often  they  arrive  exhausted  on  distant 
coasts  only  to  find  that  the  frost  has  gone  before  them. 


i66 


THE   PEEWIT'S   HOME 

"  There  the  winds  sweep  and  the  plovers  cry." 

THE  return  of  the  plovers  to  their  nesting-grounds 
in  the  south  is  always  watched  with  interest  by  those 
who  are  able  to  compare  for  any  length  of  time  the 
yearly  increase  or  decrease  of  bird-life  over  the  same 
tract  of  country.  During  the  first  weeks  of  May,  when 
ploughing  and  sowing  are  over,  and  the  land  lies  quiet 
awaiting  the  increase  of  the  spring,  the  graceful  peewits, 
and  their  "great  relations"  the  stone-curlews,  are 
occupied  in  the  incessant  care  and  protection  of  their 
young ;  and  such  is  their  anxiety  and  courage  in 
endeavouring  to  mislead  or  frighten  away  intruders, 
that  the  number  of  pairs  nesting  on  a  given  farm  may 
easily  be  ascertained  if  the  birds  are  disturbed.  The 
writer  has  for  many  years  been  in  the  habit  of  devoting 
a  few  days  at  this  time,  partly  to  a  careful  observation 
of  these  and  other  birds,  nesting  on  the  open  ground, 
near  the  White  Horse  Hill,  with  a  view  to  ascertaining 
the  conditions  most  favourable  to  their  increase  ;  and 
partly  to  searching  the  adjacent  fir  and  beech  copses, 
in  order  to  take  the  eggs  of  the  carrion-crows  and 


THE  PEEWITS  HOME  167 

magpies  with  which  the  plovers  at  this  time  wage  fierce 
and  incessant  war  ;  for  if  the  crows  have  no  family  to 
provide  for,  they  are,  as  a  rule,  contented  to  get  their 
living  honestly.  The  result  of  some  nine  years  of 
observations  so  made,  goes  to  show  that  the  numbers 
both  of  the  great  plovers,  or  stone-curlews,  and  the 
peewits  are  decreasing,  and  the  demand  for  "  plovers' 
eggs,"  even  though  largely  satisfied  from  abroad,  must 
probably  be  held  responsible  for  the  diminished  numbers 
of  the  last.  The  disappearance  of  the  great  plover  is 
even  more  to  be  regretted,  for  its  size  and  upright  gait 
make  it  approach  more  nearly  in  appearance  than  any 
other  bird  to  the  great  bustard,  which  used  once  to 
frequent  the  same  ground  ;  and  its  strange  cry  when 
on  the  wing  is  a  wild  and  startling  note  among  the 
sounds  of  the  summer  night  upon  the  hill.  It  is 
difficult  to  account  for  the  steady  decrease  of  these 
birds.  They  generally  choose  the  highest  and  barest 
ridges  upon  which  to  nest,  and  lay  their  eggs  on  some 
stony  fallow,  where  it  seems  almost  impossible  to  detect 
them,  even  though  the  particular  field  in  which  they 
lie  is  known.  A  friend  of  the  writer's  once  endeavoured 
to  aid  him  in  discovering  the  nest  by  concealing  himself 
at  daybreak,  and  watching  the  ground  with  a  telescope 
as  the  sun  rose.  But  the  birds  quitted  the  field  at  his 
approach,  and  would  not  return.  A  week  later  the 
eggs  were  hatched,  and  we  were  so  near  to  the  young 
that  the  old  bird  settled  on  the  ground  within  forty 
yards  of  us  ;  but  so  closely  did  they  conceal  themselves, 
that  the  most  patient  search  yielded  no  result.  The 


1 68       ROUND   THE   GREAT  WHITE  HORSE 

eggs  and  young  of  the  peewits  are  more  easily  found, 
for,  unlike  the  great  plovers,  they  make  a  nest  which 
an  experienced  eye  can  quickly  detect,  and  when  we 
appear  on  the  hill  with  staff  and  scrip  for  a  long  day 
among  the  birds,  our  first  visit  is  generally  paid  to  the 
peewits'  nursery.  This  is  a  broad  tract  of  rough  ground 
dotted  with  stones  and  dead  thistle-tops,  among  which 
the  eggs  can  be  laid  without  the  danger  which  they 
incur  on  cultivated  land  from  the  modern  practice  of 
rolling  the  wheat  in  spring.  The  nearest  pair  of  old 
birds  instantly  mark  the  danger,  and  in  a  few  seconds 
the  whole  colony  are  wheeling,  calling,  and  tumbling 
in  the  air  in  the  wildest  excitement  and  anxiety.  No 
bird,  not  even  a  tumbler-pigeon,  is  a  master  of  such 
feats  of  aerial  gymnastics  as  the  peewit,  and  their  swift, 
fantastic  circles  and  stoops  inevitably  arrest  the  eye, 
and  divert  the  focus  of  vision  from  that  careful  and 
minute  scrutiny  which  is  necessary  to  detect  the  lurking 
young. 

The  best  way  to  find  the  tiny  creatures  is  to  sit 
down  and  wait  quietly,  and  without  movement,  when 
the  anxiety  of  the  old  birds  seems  most  marked.  Then, 
after  some  minutes,  a  tiny  head  will  be  raised  from  the 
ground,  and  the  watcher  will  be  rewarded  by  seeing 
one  of  the  prettiest  sights  in  bird-life,  a  very  young 
peewit.  The  little  fellow  is  hardly  larger  than  a 
walnut-shell,  a  tiny  ball  of  speckled  down,  with  large, 
bright  black  eyes,  which  he  instantly  hides  from  view, 
if  the  spectator  moves,  by  gently  pushing  his  head  once 
more  behind  a  weed  or  stone.  But  if  perfect  stillness 


THE  PEEWITS  HOME  169 

is  preserved,  the  whole  brood  of  four  will  one  by  one 
rise,  and  move  daintily  forward  on  unsteady  feet  in  the 
direction  in  which  they  hear  their  anxious  parents 
screaming  and  calling,  stopping  now  and  again,  and 
laying  down  their  heads,  as  if  to  rest  and  regain  courage 
for  a  further  venture  in  the  open.  In  no  birds  is  this 
curious  instinct  for  concealment,  and  the  strange  animal 
power  of  remaining  motionless  without  discomfort,  so 
early  developed  as  in  the  young  of  the  plovers  and 
their  kin,  a  power  which  nevertheless  seems  common 
even  to  the  most  restless  animals.  The  writer  has 
watched  a  squirrel  on  a  branch  remain  as  motionless  as 
a  hare  in  its  form  for  half-an-hour,  until  his  own 
powers  of  observation  were  exhausted.  If  it  were  not 
for  this  method  of  concealment,  the  young  plovers 
would  stand  no  chance  of  escaping  the  crows  and 
magpies  which  swarm  in  the  spruce-copses  on  the 
adjacent  downs.  Every  copse  holds  yearly  at  least  one 
crow's  nest ;  and  the  population  is  seldom  complete 
without  a  brood  of  hungry  young  magpies,  and  another 
of  long-eared  owls. 

The  great  nests  last  for  years  in  the  tall  spruces, 
and  are  occupied,  like  the  castles  on  the  Rhine,  by 
successive  generations  of  robbers,  who,  unlike  the 
plovers,  maintain  their  numbers  undiminished.  But 
the  crows  and  magpies  are  a  part  of  the  natural 
inhabitants  of  the  hill  ;  and  though  we  take  their  eggs, 
we  leave  the  old  birds  in  peace.  But  the  hawks  and 
crows  are  not  the  only  robbers  on  the  hill.  The  rich 
and  juicy  rye-grasses  which  grow  on  what  was  once 


170       ROUND   THE   GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

corn-land,  and  is  now  laid  down  to  pasture,  naturally 
invite  visits  from  the  hungry  sheep  on  the  adjacent 
downs.  Sometimes,  when  the  coast  is  clear,  their 
human  guardian,  unlike  the  "  humble  and  innocent 
Abel "  of  Hooker's  biographer,  so  far  falls  in  with  the 
wishes  of  his  flock  as  to  aid  them  in  an  organized  raid 
into  the  heart  of  the  neighbouring  pastures  ;  and  the 
owner  of  the  soil,  when  making  a  spring  ramble  on  the 
hill,  has  occasionally  the  satisfaction  of  capturing  a 
pirate-shepherd  thus  engaged.  Farms  intersected  by 
one  or  more  of  the  broad  green  tracks  which  do  duty 
for  roads  on  the  downs  are  best  suited  for  his  operations, 
especially  if  he  can  secure  the  pasturage  of  some  patch 
of  land  which  gives  him  the  right  to  drive  his  sheep 
along  the  track.  When  the  shepherd  concludes  that 
the  right  moment  for  a  foray  has  arrived,  the  conspira- 
tors— for  the  sheep-dog  and  the  sheep  seem  perfectly 
intelligent  parties  to  the  scheme — approach  the  scene  of 
action  with  due  precautions.  The  dog  quietly  assembles 
the  sheep  on  the  edge  of  the  down  next  to  the  high- 
road, and  the  sheep  follow  intelligently,  the  dog  trotting 
quietly  behind,  with  none  of  the  officious  barking  and 
fuss  which  usually  mark  its  behaviour  when  in  charge 
of  a  moving  flock  Arrived  at  the  point  where  the 
green  track  leaves  the  main  road,  the  shepherd  makes  a 
careful  survey  of  the  ground,  and  gives  the  signal  for 
advance.  Buried  in  the  loose  straw  of  a  rick,  we 
watch  the  foray  through  the  binoculars  with  mixed 
feelings  of  indignation  and  amusement.  Three  hundred 
yards  further  along  the  track  is  a  hollow,  full  of  rich 


THE  PEEWIT'S  HOME  171 

grass,  in  which  the  flock  might  stay  and  feed  all  day 
unseen.  To  this  point  the  invaders  hurry,  and  in  ten 
minutes  have  plunged  into  the  hollow  and  disappeared. 
The  shepherd  and  his  dog  lie  down  above  them,  and 
contemplate  at  their  ease  the  success  of  their  stratagem, 
ready  to  drive  the  flock  unseen  from  the  hollow  on  to 
the  track  on  the  appearance  of  danger.  Though 
evidently  an  old  offender,  the  shepherd  is  a  stranger, 
so  far  as  we  can  tell  through  the  glasses  ;  so  we  decide  to 
trust  to  being  mistaken  for  tourists,  and  thus  endeavour 
to  capture  the  robbers  at  their  meal. 

As  we  wander  carelessly  down  the  track  the  shepherd 
rises,  and  leaning  on  his  staff,  reconnoitres  us  with  the 
keen  eyes  of  a  born  son  of  the  hills.  The  dog  trots 
forward,  and  with  one  paw  raised  watches  us  also,  ready 
at  a  sign  from  his  master  to  rush  back  to  the  hollow 
and  drive  the  sheep  on  to  the  track.  "  Towerists,  for 
zartain,"  remarks  the  shepherd  to  himself,  and  prepares 
for  a  wayside  chat.  The  collie,  only  partly  convinced 
by  his  master's  attitude,  gives  a  short,  defiant  yelp,  and 
trots  back  to  heel.  As  we  reach  the  edge  of  the  hollow, 
we  see  the  flock  making  the  best  of  their  time,  eagerly 
pulling  out  and  chewing  the  grass,  and  expanding  in  a 
rapidly  widening  circle  up  the  sloping  sides.  The 
glimpse  of  the  predatory  side  of  an  Arcadian  exist- 
ence becomes  amusing.  We  feel  that  the  approaching 
dialogue  should  take  a  classic  form — 

VIATOR. — "  Tell  me,  shepherd,  whose  flock  is  this  ? 
Is  it  Melibceus'  ? " 

SHEPHERD   (politely,   but  conscious  of  being  better 


172        ROUND   THE   GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

informed). — "  No,  zur  ;  'em  beant  ;  'em  be  Mister 
Parkinses,  zur ;  the  miller's  sheep,  zur,  be  at  Up- 
Lambourne,  zur." 

VIATOR  (tartly). — "  Then  if  you  and  your  sheep  are 
here  five  minutes  longer,  we  will  run  them  all  down  to 
Cressington  Pound." 

SHEPHERD  (realizing  the  situation).  —  "Great 
Apollo!"  (or  words  to  that  effect.) 

[The  dog  rushes  off  at  a  wave  of  his  master's  hand  ; 
in  a  minute  the  flock  are  back  upon  the  track,  and  in 
three  more  the  enemy  appear  a  white  diminishing  patch 
upon  the  distant  down.] 


173 


MARCH   DAYS   ON   THE   DOWNS 

GAME,  and  wild  birds  and  beasts  of  all  kinds  show 
themselves  more  on  a  warm  March  day  than  at  any 
other  season.  This  is  not  because  they  are  more 
numerous,  for  after  the  hardships  of  winter,  and 
before  the  young  are  born,  or  the  spring  migrants 
have  arrived,  their  numbers  are  at  the  lowest  point 
in  the  year.  Yet  the  bare  fields  and  the  edges  of 
the  copses  seem  to  tempt  every  hare,  crow,  magpie, 
and  hawk,  to  show  themselves  for  a  few  days  almost 
without  fear  of  man.  Even  the  tame  cats  leave 
the  houses  and  gardens,  and  sit  out  in  the  meadows  and 
on  the  sunny  banks,  neither  hunting  nor  sleeping,  but 
sitting  up  sedately  enjoying  the  prospect,  and  licking 
their  fur  into  summer  glossiness.  The  dog-foxes  do 
the  same,  though  the  vixens  are  already  occupied  in  the 
care  of  their  litters.  On  a  rough  hillside  forming  the 
outskirts  of  a  park,  dotted  with  patches  of  dried  grass 
and  brambles,  I  have  often  watched  them  at  this 
time  sitting  up  like  a  dog  with  ears  erect  and  a 
boldness  of  demeanour  which  must  be  born  of  some 
vulpine  recollection  that  the  hunting-season  comes  to 


174         ROUND   THE   GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

an  end  with  the  appearance  of  what  the  old  huntsman 
called  "  them  stinking  violets,"  and  that  the  days  of 
peace  and  plenty  are  within  measurable  distance. 
Licking  and  cleaning  their  fur  also  occupies  much  of 
their  sunny  hours.  No  one  who  has  watched  them  so 
engaged  can  believe  that  the  fox  is  naturally  an  un- 
cleanly animal,  in  spite  of  the  disagreeable  scent  which  it 
bears.  But  during  the  hunting  season  they  become  so 
wary  and  suspicious  that  every  kind  of  food  is  dragged 
into  the  earths  to  be  devoured.  The  skins  and  refuse 
parts  are  not  eaten,  the  earths  become  foul  and  tainted, 
and  with  the  approach  of  spring  they  are  deserted, 
except  as  a  place  of  refuge.  The  vixen  digs  a  hole  for 
her  litter  in  some  fresh  haunt,  or  scratches  out  a 
deserted  rabbit-burrow,  and  the  male  fox  revels  in  fresh 
air,  wind,  and  sunlight.  In  the  long  dry  grass  in  the 
hollows  on  the  downs,  where  what  was  once  arable  land 
has  turned  into  coarse  pasture,  their  seats  may  be  found 
in  numbers,  round  neat  nests  which  the  fastidious  fox 
changes  every  day.  "  Grass  burning  "  is  an  exciting 
minor  branch  of  husbandry  at  this  time,  harmless  to  the 
ground-birds,  which  have  not  yet  begun  to  nest,  and 
pretty  to  watch,  as  the  low  flames  creep  crackling  over 
the  dry  haulm  above,  and  leave  the  good  green  under- 
growth sprinkled  with  invigorating  ashes.  The  March 
hares  are  wide-awake,  and  hop  away  to  the  adjacent 
slopes,  whence  they  watch  the  progress  of  the  flames 
with  ears  erect,  and  a  very  human  look  of  curiosity. 
The  partridges  whirr  off  in  pairs,  and  no  one  is  the 
worse,  except  the  singed  and  smoke-grimed  bipeds 


MARCH  DAYS   ON  THE  DOWNS  175 

whose  business  it  is  with  branches  and  sacks  to  keep  the 
sides  of  the  fire  from  spreading  too  near  to  stacks  or 
fences.  Yet  while  directing  this  operation  the  writer 
once  singed  a  basking  fox.  The  grass  had  been  lighted 
and  relighted  for  more  than  an  hour,  and  the  successful 
laying  of  a  long  train  of  straw  had  at  last  produced  a 
line  of  fire  a  hundred  yards  across,  which  was  travelling 
slowly  across  the  wind.  The  fox  had  chosen  for  its 
lair  a  hollow  full  of  long  grass  from  which  rubble  had 
been  dug  at  some  distant  date,  and  was  either  sound 
asleep  or  unwilling  to  move,  until  the  fire  had  passed 
on  either  side  of  its  lair.  When  it  sprang  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  smoke  it  was  for  a  moment  bewildered, 
and  dashed  through  the  flames  with  its  fur  on  end,  and 
every  hair  on  its  brush  stiff  with  fright.  A  long- 
legged  setter  which  was  watching  the  proceedings  at 
once  gave  chase,  and  it  was  not  until  after  a  long  and 
close  course  in  the  open  that  the  fox  recovered  presence 
of  mind  to  make  for  a  fence,  and  with  one  or  two  of 
the  apparently  simple  ruses  by  which  the  fox  always 
bewilders  the  slower  dog-wits,  that  the  setter  was 
baffled.  In  a  long  day  spent  on  the  hills  at  this  time 
it  is  possible  to  find  every  head  of  game,  and  all  the 
winged  vermin  in  a  thousand  acres,  by  sitting  quietly 
opposite  the  sheltered  slopes,  or  near  the  copses. 
•  It  is  the  only  season  at  which  animals  are  more  rest- 
less than  man  ;  their  power  of  sitting  still  deserts  them 
under  the  genial  influence  of  the  unaccustomed  sun. 
By  the  time  that  the  peewits  have  ceased  circling  and 
calling,  the  little  brown  dots,  which  may  be  either  hares 


176         ROUND    THE   GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

or  clods,  begin  to  move.  The  distant  ones  look  redder 
and  larger.  Presently  one  rises,  not  at  once,  but 
gradually,  till  its  round  back  shows  against  the  down. 
It  creeps  forward  and  nibbles  at  the  grass,  and  at  last 
hops  gently,  down  the  slope.  The  rest  take  courage, 
and  rise  one  by  one ;  others  appear  in  unexpected 
quarters,  until  the  hillside  is  dotted  with  their  cautiously 
moving  forms.  One,  bolder  than  the  rest,  dashes  up 
to  its  mate,  and  before  long  the  whole  party  are  busy 
courting,  the  lady  hares  nibbling  at  the  young  grass, 
taking  little  excursions  to  try  another  tuft,  sitting  up  to 
watch  the  landscape,  and  pretending  to  be  quite  absorbed 
in  the  weather,  or  in  anything  but  the  affairs  of  the 
moment,  while  their  suitors  skip,  run  circles,  or  hop 
meekly  after  them,  protesting  that  they  have  come 
miles  to  see  them  across  the  downs,  and  cannot  take 
"  No "  for  an  answer.  Some  are  already  mated  ;  but 
few  of  the  young  March  leverets  survive  the  dangers  to 
which  the  short  herbage  and  long  light  days  expose 
them.  The  hungry  sparrow-hawks,  whose  keen  vision 
sees  the  tiny  leveret  far  more  quickly  than  the  most 
practised  human  eye  detects  a  bold  March  hare,  must 
kill  the  greater  number  of  these  "  rathe-born  "  litters. 
They  seem  to  know  the  exact  spots  where  the  leverets 
are  lying,  and  not  to  take  them  until  such  time  as  they 
consider  to  be  necessary  or  convenient.  While  watching 
the  hares  at  play  and  at  the  same  time  the  progress  of 
the  horse-drills  in  a  field  in  which  spring  corn  was 
being  sown,  the  writer  observed  a  sparrow-hawk 
perched  upon  a  tree,  and  also  watching  the  progress  of 


MARCH  DAYS  ON  THE  DOWNS  177 

the  work.  The  ground  was  in  perfect  order,  dry,  soft, 
and  fine,  and  the  horses  were  stepping  briskly  across 
the  smooth,  fresh-harrowed  soil.  At  either  end  stood 
the  open  sacks  of  grain,  ready  to  fill  the  seed-boxes, 
and  the  steady  wind  drove  a  cloud  of  good  March  dust 
— the  dust  of  the  field,  not  of  the  road — from  the  drills 
like  spin-drift  from  a  cutter's  prow.  More  than  half 
the  area  was  finished  when  the  hawk  dashed  from  its 
tree,  swept  up  a  leveret  from  the  edge  of  the  field,  and 
killed  it  before  the  sowers  could  run  to  the  rescue.  It 
had  bided  its  time  until,  seeing  that  its  prey  must  be 
disturbed,  it  at  once  made  a  bold  dash  to  secure  it. 
The  magpies,  carrion-crows,  brown  owls,  and  white 
owls,  as  well  as  the  wood-pigeons  and  rooks,  are  all 
building  ;  and  by  a  curious  coincidence,  the  largest  of 
common  English  birds,  the  heron — the  smallest,  the 
gold-crest — and  the  most  brilliant,  the  king-fisher — all 
lay  their  eggs  in  March.  The  frogs  and  pike  are  also 
spawning,  and  in  the  general  scarcity  of  food  the 
banks  of  the  ponds  and  slow  streams  are  a  happy 
hunting-ground  to  nearly  all  the  larger  birds.  The 
"  breaking  of  the  waters  "  under  the  first  hot  suns  fills 
the  stagnant  pools  for  a  few  days  with  a  thick  infusion 
of  green  or  red  algse .  The  mud  smells,  the  frogs  croak, 
the  pike  bask  in  pairs  in  the  shallows,  and  as  the  water 
shrinks  from  the  margin  the  carrion-crows  are  busy  early 
and  late  in  hunting  for  their  favourite  dainty,  the  fresh- 
water mussels.  The  meadows  near  the  canal  which  flows 
through  the  White  Horse  Vale,  and  is  there  dignified 
by  the  name  of  the  "river,"  are  studded  with  the 


N 


178        ROUND   THE    GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

beautiful  oval  bivalve  shells,  their  mother-of-pearl 
lining  pierced  by  the  crows'  beaks ;  and  near  any 
favourite  post  or  old  stump,  which  the  crows  use  as 
a  dining-table,  there  is  a  pile  of  the  dark-blue  and  opal 
fragments.  It  is  not  creditable  to  the  rustic  feeling 
for  sport  that  the  March  shrinkage  of  the  waters, 
which  suggests  to  the  crows  their  raids  upon  the 
mussels,  usually  prompts  the  whole  village  to  a  short- 
lived enthusiasm  for  "  fishing."  It  never  seems  to 
occur  to  rustic  anglers  that  autumn  and  winter  are  the 
proper  seasons  in  which  to  take  coarse  fish.  The  sight 
of  the  young  fry  near  the  banks,  and  the  big  breeding 
pike  in  the  shallows,  sends  every  idle  pair  of  hands  with 
rods  or  poles  to  the  stream.  If  the  weather  is  un- 
usually dry,  the  fish  may  even  be  hauled  out  with  a 
hay-rake  ;  and  in  any  case,  snares,  or  some  "  engine  " 
not  considered  fair  to  the  fish  by  anglers,  is  preferred. 
"  Did  you  catch  he  with  a  snare  ? "  was  the  first  inquiry 
we  heard  addressed  to  an  urchin  who  was  discovered 
cuddling  a  6-lb..  pike  in  his  arms  like  a  baby.  "  No," 
replied  the  boy.  "  You  groppled  he  ? "  suggested 
another.  "  Got  'un  with  a  hook  ? "  surmised  a  third. 
"  Not  exactly, "  was  the  answer  ;  "  I  catched  'an 
wi'  a  bung.1'  The  big  fish  had  fallen  victim  to  a 
night-line,  fastened  to  the  cork  of  a  mineral-oil  cask. 


179 


"KITING"   ON  THE   DOWNS 

AFTER  seven  years'  experience  of  the  district,  I 
may  say  without  qualification  that  I  have  nowhere 
found  partridges  so  impracticably  wild  late  in  the 
season  as  those  bred  on  the  high  downs  by  the  great 
White  Horse.  Apart  from  the  known  fact  that  hill 
partridges  are  generally  stronger  and  fly  further  than 
those  on  lower  and  more  sheltered  ground,  there  are 
scarcely  any  fences  on  the  downs  ;  consequently  there 
are  no  local  limits  suggested  to  the  birds'  flight  other 
than  those  given  by  the  natural  lie  of  the  ground.  In 
an  inclosed  country  a  few  brace  may  always  be  had 
by  an  active  walker,  even  when  single-handed,  as  they 
can  generally  be  got  to  "  fence."  Such  at  least  was 
my  experience  in  Suffolk,  when  we  as  boys  often  made 
a  Christmas  bag  when  sturdy  but  short-winded 
farmers  had  returned  almost  empty-handed. 

"  Well,  what  sport  have  you  had  ? "  inquired  my 
old  friend  Mr.  Tom  Barrett,  as  we  met  him  walking 
rather  sulkily  home  with  the  claws  of  one  partridge 
sticking  out  of  his  covert  coat-pocket. 

"  Oh,  pretty  good  for  us,  thank  you,  Mr.  Barrett," 


i8o       ROUND   THE   GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

we  replied,   with  the  pride  that  apes  humility  ;   "  we 
have  shot  six  red-legs  and  a  hare." 

"  Shot  'em  !  "  replied  our  friend,  with  bitter  irony. 
"  Shot  'em  !  you  don't  shoot  'em,  you  walk  'em  to 
dead  !  "  and  he  stamped  off  home. 

Whether  this  insinuation  were  true  or  not — and  we 
certainly  did  rather  tire  our  birds — neither  shooting 
nor  walking  will  command  a  bag  in  Berks  in  late 
December,  and  I  have  found  that  the  only  way  to 
make  sure  of  a  few  brace  is  to  try  the  kite.  This 
Christmas  the  frost  fog  settled  on  the  hill,  and  the 
absence  of  wind  to  blow  away  mist  and  influenza 
made  the  kite  impossible.  But  this  was  unusual. 

A  day  marked  by  all  the  good  and  evil  of  "  kite- 
flying "  was  that  on  which  Eton  restored  some 
thousand  young  gentlemen  to  "  make  the  home 
brighter"  during  the  Christmas  holidays.  One  of 
these  was  expected  by  an  early  train — a  sporting 
youth  of  seventeen,  who  naturally  did  not  wish  to 
waste  a  minute  of  the  precious  time  ;  and  to  meet 
this  view  it  was  arranged  to  begin  so  soon  as  ever 
the  dogcart  could  deposit  him  at  the  cross  roads, 
ready  to  take  instant  part  in  the  business  of  the  hour. 
Tt  was  a  nice  bright  day,  with  enough  wind  to  fly 
the  kite,  and  sun  to  make  the  birds  rather  less  anxious 
to  shift  their  quarters  than  usual.  Two  coveys  even 
rose  within  a  long  shot  under  a  fence  as  we  were 
getting  the  machine  into  working  order,  and  a  lively 
runner  was  claimed  by  all  three  of  the  party  as  the 
result  of  a  general  discharge.  The  kite  was  duly 


'  KITING'  ON  THE  DOWNS  181 

hoisted  in  the  ancient  road  known  as  the  "  Icledon 
Way,"  and  soared  up  clear  of  all  danger  from  the 
few  scattered  trees  near  ;  and  while  it  tugged  and 
pulled  at  the  string,  it  certainly  looked  very  like 
some  goblin  falcon,  as  it  swayed  about  and  gazed 
with  horrible  scrutiny  from  its  one  eye  on  the  ground 
beneath.  The  little  tags  in  the  tail  danced  and  hovered 
like  small  birds  mobbing  a  hawk ;  and  a  flock  of 
rooks  in  a  neighbouring  field  flew  off  into  the  vale 
in  consternation  at  the  invasion  of  so  awful  a  fowl. 
Most  people,  when  the  kite  is  once  up,  fancy  that  the 
difficulties  connected  with  its  working  are  over. 
Though  we  did  not  quite  share  this  view,  the  country 
before  us  was  so  easy,  being  a  long  and  gradual  ascent 
of  four  hundred  feet  with  no  timber,  and  a  flat  hill-top 
bare  of  trees  beyond  it,  that  we  allowed  the  string  to 
pass  into  the  hands  of  a  volunteer,  who  was  an  excellent 
farm  bailiff,  and  rather  jumped  at  the  notion  of  working 
the  kite  for  a  few  hours.  It  was  not  long  before  we 
discovered  that  the  kite-flying  part  of  his  education  had 
been  neglected  in  his  youth. 

Before  going  up  the  hill  we  wished  to  try  a  large 
stubble  field,  on  which  several  coveys  were  feeding. 
In  the  middle  of  this  stood  two  large  isolated  elm 
trees  ;  and  we  had  not  worked  half  the  field  before 
we  were  horrified  to  see  the  kite  string  caught  in 
the  largest  and  least  "  climbable "  of  the  two.  The 
kite  struggled,  fluttered,  and  then  descended  gracefully, 
casting  the  whole  length  of  its  tail  across  the  topmost 
branchlets  of  the  elm. 


i82       ROUND   THE    GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

Now  the  trunk  of  the  elm  was  large,  and  the  lower 
branches  had  been  carefully  trimmed,  so  that  there 
was  nothing  for  it  but  "  swarming  " — a  tiring  exertion 
in  any  costume,  and  made  worse  in  this  case  by  one's 
heavy  shooting  boots.  The  tallest  of  the  party,  who 
was  rather  an  expert  at  tree  climbing,  made  the  sacrifice, 
and,  after  a  desperate  effort,  perched  himself  among 
the  branches,  some  fifteen  feet  from  the  ground.  But 
when  he  had  reached  the  tree  top,  so  far  as  that  was 
possible  for  a  man  of  his  weight,  the  kite  was  still 
out  of  reach,  so  nicely  was  it  balanced  on  the  outer 
branches.  We  then  sent  for  a  ladder  and  a  saw,  and 
an  active  young  labourer,  who  brought  both,  clambered 
up  into  the  tree,  and  sawed  the  main  branch,  on  which 
the  kite  was  hung.  But,  as  I  waited,  with  our  Etonian, 
at  the  foot,  I  suddenly  saw  an  expression  of  alarm 
in  the  face  of  the  latter,  and,  looking  up,  beheld  the 
lad,  who  found  sawing  rather  a  slow  job,  "  laying  out," 
as  the  sailors  say,  along  the  half-cut  limb  to  try  and 
reach  the  kite.  This  was  too  exciting  for  our  nerves, 
so  we  ordered  him  back,  and,  after  a  few  minutes' 
vigorous  sawing,  the  branch  and  kite  came  down 
together,  without  damage  to  the  former. 

Most  people  will  agree  that  so  far  we  had  had  our 
share  of  ill-luck.  The  hitch  in  the  tree  cost  us  an 
hour's  delay.  We  had  not  started  till  eleven,  and 
thus  it  was  twelve  o'clock  before  we  could  get  under 
way  again  ;  worse  than  this,  the  tiring  climb  put  one 
of  the  party  off  his  shooting,  and  the  fuss  occasioned 
by  the  whole  incident  upset  us  all. 


'KITING'    ON  THE  DOWNS  183 

But  straight  shooting  is  never  more  wanted  than 
with  the  kite.  Birds  fly  fast,  low,  and  twisting,  and 
in  this  case  there  was  a  nice  wind  to  help  them,  so 
that  we  soon  had  to  laugh  at  ourselves  and  congratulate 
the  birds. 

Making  straight  for  the  hill-top,  we  passed  over 
some  long  sloping  stubbles,  and  before  long  one  of  the 
party  held  up  his  hand.  "  Come  up  quick,"  he  said  ; 
"  there  is  a  whole  covey  squatting  in  this  pit,"  and  he 
pointed  to  a  slight  hollow  in  front  of  him,  from  which 
chalk  had  been  taken.  "  Spring  them,"  we  said  ;  and 
then  watched  him  carefully  pick  up  a  clod,  and  shy 
it  at  the  birds.  Up  they  all  jumped,  with  no  end  of 
a  screeching  and  cackle,  and  then  did  our  friend  care- 
fully miss  them  right  and  left. 

After  some  remarks  by  an  old  shepherd  who  had 
joined  us,  to  the  effect  that  "  when  'em's  scared  'em 
twistes,  and  when  'em  twistes  'em's  bad  to  hit,"  we 
got  the  kite  over  a  field  of  swedes.  Now,  a  swede 
field  in  December,  after  the  frost,  means  so  many 
acres  of  hard  round  balls,  with  no  leaf  on  top.  But, 
bad  as  it  was,  it  was  the  only  cover  we  had,  and  the 
birds  were  there.  Like  prudent  creatures,  though 
afraid  to  fly,  they  ran  as  far  as  they  could  ;  and  it  was 
not  till  we  got  to  the  extreme  edge  that  we  had  a  rise. 
Then  at  least  forty  were  flushed  at  once.  Most  flew 
low  and  fast,  twisting  ;  others  rose  high  and  went  back, 
and  one  old  cock  waited  till  all  our  barrels  were  empty, 
and  then  got  up  with  all  the  dignity  possible  and  flew 
down  the  line.  And  what  was  the  result  of  our  volley  ? 


184       ROUND   THE    GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

Alas,  two   birds   only  ;   the  pace   had  apparently  been 
too  much  for  us. 

We  then  moved  on  to  another  swede  field,  and 
found  that,  as  in  the  first,  the  birds  had  all  run  to 
the  edge.  Here  we  made  the  mistake  of  working  the 
down-wind  side  first.  The  kite-flyer  walked  down 
the  windward  edge  of  the  swedes,  and  soon  flushed  two 
big  coveys,  which  flew  away  somewhere  into  the  next 
parish  but  one.  We  then  drew  out,  and  taking  up  that 
side,  had  two  good  rises  and  bagged  a  leash  !  If  the 
powder  had  only  been  decently  straight,  it  should  have 
been  four  brace.  By  this  time  it  was  past  two  o'clock, 
and  the  sun  was  already  sinking  towards  the  back  of 
the  White  Horse  Hill,  and  the  misty  vapours  filling 
the  hollow  by  Seven  Barrows. 

After  tying  up  our  kite,  and  eating  some  luncheon 
by  a  barn,  we  concluded  to  try  some  high  rough  grass 
for  hares,  and  then  have  another  turn  at  the  birds. 
There  is  something  very  exhilarating  in  walking  this 
high  uncultivated  land,  far  from  houses,  except  scattered 
shepherds'  cottages,  and  surrounded  with  memorials 
of  a  dead  past  in  the  shape  of  barrows  and  ancient 
camps.  The  hares  were  pretty  numerous,  and  un- 
commonly wild ;  nevertheless,  we  shot  three,  and 
eventually  a  fourth.  This  last  hare  went  on  hard  hit, 
but  going  fast ;  then,  after  travelling  one  hundred  and 
fifty  yards  up  hill,  it  gave  three  bounds  and  tumbled 
Over  stone  dead. 

We  next  unfastened  our  kite  and  tried  some  more 
swede  fields.     It  occurred  to  me  that,  as  we  had  sprung 


'KITING'    ON  THE  DOWNS  185 

nothing  but  large  coveys  in  the  morning,  we  might 
have  walked  over  some  smaller  lots.  So  we  let  the 
setter  range,  which  had  hitherto  walked  at  heel  ;  he 
very  soon  stood,  and  five  birds  rose.  Of  these  our 
Etonian  had  a  right  and  left,  and  I  one,  a  fourth 
going  on  and  towering  over  a  copse,  where  we  lost 
him.  In  the  next  field  we  rose  two  more  coveys  ;  but 
these  were  wilder,  and  we  only  had  one  bird. 

By  this  time  we  had  descended  below  the  ancient 
"  ridge-way,"  which  marks  the  crest  of  the  downs  for 
forty  miles,  and  the  wind  greatly  lessened  in  force, 
so  that  the  kite  descended  gently  into  a  swede  field  on 
the  steepest  part  of  the  hill- side.  Then  occurred  a 
curious  incident  :  one  of  the  party  went  on  to  raise 
the  kite,  and,  laying  down  his  gun,  stooped  to  pick 
up  the  mock  falcon,  while  I  took  the  string  some  forty 
yards  away  and  higher  up  the  slope.  But  as  he  stooped 
up  bounced  a  covey  all  round  him ;  so  close  were 
they,  that  he  picked  up  his  gun  and  shot  the  last 
bird. 

It  was  evident  that  the  kite  had  fallen  right  into 
the  middle  of  these  birds.  They,  true  to  their  instinct, 
kept  still.  But  when  the  wingless  enemy,  man,  came 
among  them,  they  flew.  Of  course  the  birds  are  quite 
right  in  their  tactics.  A  peregrine  is  quite  harmless 
as  long  as  they  are  on  the  ground  ;  and  they  seem  to 
know  it.  But  the  sparrow-hawk  will  attack  birds  when 
running,  if  not  when  squatting.  I  witnessed  this  when 
shooting  in  Suffolk  with  my  brother,  Mr.  J.  G.  Cornish, 
in  severe  winter  weather.  We  were  shooting  red-legs 


i86       ROUND   THE   GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

in  the  snow,  which  had  frozen  on  the  top  and  enabled 
those  wary  birds  to  run,  though  they  were  of  course 
very  easily  seen.  We  were  watching  a  brace  making 
across  a  roughly  ploughed  field,  where  the  snow  lay  in 
the  furrows  and  the  ridges  were  bare,  when  a  sparrow- 
hawk  dashed  from  a  tree,  pitched  beside  the  leading 
bird,  and  grabbed  him  by  the  back  with  one  foot. 
The  two  scuffled  along  together  for  a  couple  of  yards, 
and  then  the  partridge  shook  himself  clear,  and  got 
into  .the  fence.  Nor  were  his  nerves  at  all  upset  by  the 
encounter,  for  he  got  out  of  it  before  we  could  come 
within  shot  of  him,  and  made  ofF. 

We  killed  another  bird  coming  down  the  hill,  and 
then  wound  in  our  kite,  in  case  we  might  have  another 
difficulty  with  the  tree,  having  only  bagged  twelve 
birds  and  four  hares.  But  if  the  powder  had  been 
straight,  we  ought  to  have  doubled  that  number. 

On  the  whole,  shooting  with  a  kite  is  unsatisfactory 
work.  It  is  a  nuisance  to  have  a  machine  out  shooting  ; 
and  if  it  goes  wrong  or  gets  hung  up,  it  disconcerts 
most  people  for  the  day.  But  if  it  is  used,  the  success 
of  the  day  will  depend  mainly  on  the  judgment  with 
which  the  man  in  charge  of  the  kite  works  it.  This 
means  experience,  and  my  own  is  not  sufficient  to  allow 
me  to  dogmatize. 


•J 
; 


i87 


WILD  RABBIT   FARMING 

THE  growth  of  "  Wild  England  "  has  been  going  on 
by  leaps  and  bounds  during  the  years  in  which  the  price 
of  wheat  and  oats  have  maintained  their  steady  decline. 
It  would  be  a  most  interesting  experiment  for  the 
County  Councils  of  the  home  districts  to  issue  a  map, 
on  which  the  land  withdrawn,  not  only  from  the  plough, 
but  from  any  form  of  cultivation,  and  running  wild, 
was  coloured  in  a  bold  tint  and  plain  to  the  eye.  Most 
of  this  will  turn  into  rough  pasture  of  a  sort ;  but  the 
question  of  how  to  gather  some  revenue  from  it 
meantime  is  a  pressing  one.  Much  of  this  land, 
especially  that  on  the  Berkshire  downs,  is  thin  light 
soil,  well  suited  for  the  rearing  of  game  ;  and  as 
sporting  rights  let  well,  and  the  ground  which  rears 
partridges  and  rabbits  is  also  suitable  for  running  rough 
stock  and  sheep  upon  in  winter,  the  new  wilderness 
is  likely  to  be  fairly  well  peopled  with  its  natural 
inhabitants.  In  some  places  wild  rabbit  farming  has 
been  taken  up  seriously.  A  partner  in  one  of  the 
large  London  provision  stores  told  the  writer  that  he 
had  turned  part  of  a  farm  in  Essex — which  he  had 


1 88        ROUND   THE    GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

taken  to  graze  cattle  on  when  the  state  of  the  market 
made  it  desirable  to  keep  them  for  a  few  weeks  before 
being  turned  into  beef — into  a  rabbit  farm,  and  that  with 
the  sale  which  he  could  secure,  it  answered  well.  This 
is  a  new  departure  in  English  rural  economy. 

The  proverb  that  "  what  is  one  man's  poison  may 
be  another  man's  meat "  could  not  be  better  illustrated 
than  by  a  comparison  of  an  interesting  little  book  on 
The  Wild  Rabbit  in  a  New  Aspect^  by  Mr.  Simpson, 
Wood  Agent  to  Lord  WharnclifFe's  estate,  near  Shef- 
field, with  the  mass  of  rabbit  literature  which  has 
appeared  in  Colonial  Blue-books  and  Reports  during 
the  past  few  years.  No  one  who  is  at  all  familiar  with 
the  feelings  of  resentment,  irritation,  and  despair  which 
find  their  way  into  Colonial  prints  on  this  subject  can 
doubt  that  the  character  of  the  rabbit  needs  white- 
washing badly.  It  is  said  that  any  person  convicted 
of  bringing  the  wild  rabbit  to  any  port  of  Cape  Colony 
would  be  lynched  as  certainly  as  a  Negro  murderer  of 
a  White  in  the  Southern  States  of  America.  In  New 
Zealand,  the  sheep-farmer  drives  from  one  log-cabin 
to  another  on  his  "  run  "  with  a  cartful  of  cats  in 
cages,  which  are  deposited  at  each,  and  taught  to  earn 
a  living  by  keeping  down  the  rabbit-plague.  The 
demand  for  cats,  fostered  by  the  increase  of  the  rabbits, 
even  disturbs  the  domestic  circle,  when  hearth-rug 
favourites  of  known  home-keeping  habits  mysteriously 

1  The  Wild  Rabbit  in  a  New  Aspect ;  or,  Rabbit  Warrens  that 
Pay.  By  J.  Simpson,  Wood  Agent,  Wortley  Hall,  Sheffield. 
London :  Blackwood  and  Sons. 


WILD  RABBIT  FARMING  189 

disappear,  and  bereaved  housewives,  on  comparing 
notes,  find  a  suspicious  correspondence  between  the  rise 
in  the  prices  offered  by  the  advertising  farmers  and  the 
sudden  loss  of  their  household  pets.  In  Australia,  the 
rabbit  has  learnt  a  new  accomplishment.  In  California 
it  has  forgotten  an  old  one.  The  Australian  rabbit  has 
developed  long  claws,  and  climbs  the  scrub  with  ease, 
in  order  to  eat  the  leaves  when  grass  is  scarce.  In 
California  it  has  forgotten  how  to  burrow ;  and 
recently  a  rising  en  masse  of  the  inhabitants  of  a 
rabbit-infested  district  succeeded  by  driving  the  crea- 
tures by  thousands  into  an  inclosure,  where  they  were 
destroyed  without  a  chance  of  escape.  But  in  all  the 
Colonies — and  even  in  most  parts  of  Germany,  where 
the  people  will  not  eat  rabbits,  declaring  that  the  meat 
was  "  too  sweet " — the  rabbit  is  looked  upon  as  a  pest, 
to  be  exterminated  if  possible,  and  so  unremunerative 
as  food  as  not  to  pay  the  wages  of  the  men  employed 
in  its  destruction.  The  "  Ground  Game  Act,"  recently 
passed  in  England,  reflected  some  such  general  feeling 
among  our  own  middle  and  lower  classes  ;  and  in  many 
parts  of  the  country  where  wild  rabbits  formerly 
swarmed  they  have  completely  disappeared.  The 
contrary  opinion,  maintained  within  limits  by  Mr. 
Simpson,  comes  with  a  certain  recommendation  from 
the  position  and  employment  of  its  author.  In  the 
first  place,  "  he  comes  from  Yorkshire,"  writing  from 
the  park  of  Lord  Wharncliffe,  at  Wortley  Hall,  near 
Sheffield,  where  his  experiments  were  made  ;  and  in 
the  next  he  is  a  "  wood-agent,"  or  manager  of  growing 


i9o        ROUND   THE   GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

timber,  young  and  old,  upon  a  large  estate,  and,  of 
course,  looks  upon  rabbits  at  large  as  his  natural 
enemies.  His  record  of  the  means  by  which  these 
creatures  on  a  very  large  estate  were  maintained  within 
bounds,  and  yet  available  as  a  source  both  of  profit  and 
sport,  is  all  the  more  interesting.  The  Wortley  warren 
consists  of  very  old  park-pasture,  which  had  always 
been  overrun  with  rabbits,  on  which  the  herbage  was 
in  many  parts  very  poor  and  rough.  Seventy-seven 
acres  of  this  were  surrounded  by  a  cheap  rabbit-proof 
fence,  enclosing  a  strip  of  old  wood,  mostly  of  oak, 
with  an  undergrowth  of  elder,  rhododendrons,  and 
bracken.  It  is  curious  to  notice  that  though  the 
warren,  which  was  divided  by  a  wagon-road,  was 
provided  with  artificial  burrows  on  the  side  opposite  to 
this  wood,  it  took  the  rabbits  a  whole  year  to  find 
them  out ;  and  for  the  first  twelve  months  they  fed 
almost  wholly  on  the  half  of  the  pasture  which 
adjoined  their  burrows.  In  the  first  year,  3000  good 
live  rabbits  were  caught.  Meantime,  every  other 
rabbit  on  the  estate  had  been  destroyed ;  and  the 
annoyance  of  damage  to  woodlands  and  complaints 
from  tenants  ceased.  For  the  succeeding  three  years 
the  same  average  yield  of  3000  rabbits  has  been  main- 
tained, in  addition  to  which  cattle  have  been  fed  on  the 
warren  to  the  value  of  £100  per  annum.  But 
omitting  this  source  of  profit,  the  ground  has  for  four 
years  produced  over  40  rabbits  per  acre.  The  author 
makes  the  total  50 ;  but  this  does  not  correspond 
with  the  figures  in  his  acreage.  But  this  is  far  beyond 


WILD  RABBIT  FARMING  191 

'  the  return  on  less  carefully  managed  or  neglected 
warrens,  where  an  average  of  from  15  to  20  rabbits 
per  acre  is  by  no  means  common.  The  expense  of  the 
Wortley  warren  is  not  stated  as  clearly  as  could  be 
wished.  But  the  returns  from  an  "  experimental  acre," 
specially  fenced-in  and  stocked  with  a  view  to  ascer- 
taining the  number  of  rabbits  which  the  standard  acre 
would  support,  are  given  as  follow — 

Manure,  lime,  hay,  labour,  and  interest  on 

fencing  at  5  per  cent.     ...         ...         ...    £i   10     o 

Rent,  rates,  and  taxes        ...          ...         ...         i   14     o 


Total  cost ^3     4     o 

Off  this  acre  no  rabbits  were  netted,  whose  market- 
value  was  is.  \d.  per  couple,  giving  a  gross  profit  of 
£6  4,9.  4.d.,  and  a  net  profit  of  £3  4$.  4^.  per  acre. 
It  will  be  noticed  that  the  number  taken  from  this 
experimental  acre  was  nearly  three  times  that  produced 
by  the  same  quantity  of  ground  in  the  large  warren. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  expenses  of  fencing  and  labour 
for  the  larger  area  would  be  far  less  in  proportion  than 
on  the  smaller  ;  and  the  writer  gives  it  as  his  opinion 
that,  were  he  allowed  to  keep  a  larger  breeding-stock 
at  the  end  of  the  season  his  return  over  the  whole  77 
acres  of  the  warren  would  not  fall  far  below  that  of  his 
experimental  enclosure.  Two  facts  in  connection  with 
wild-rabbit  culture  in  England  appear  from  the  data 
which  we  have  referred  to.  The  creature  is  far  less 
prolific  in  England  than  in  the  "  new  countries,"  where 
it  now  swarms  in  such  uncontrollable  numbers  ;  and  it 


192        ROUND    THE   GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

enjoys  a  reputation  as  delicate  food  among  the  working 
class  of  the  North  and  of  the  large  towns,  which  makes 
it  always  saleable  at  a  high  price.  The  wild  rabbit,  in 
a  ivarren,  does  not  multiply  as  it  is  reported  to  do  in 
the  Australian  runs.  A  pair  in  an  isolated  burrow 
might,  the  author  considers,  produce  20  young  in  the 
season,  which  lasts  from  February  till  September  ;  but 
in  a  warren,  not  overstocked,  10  young  is  the  highest 
number  which  can  be  expected  from  a  single  pair.  In 
reference  to  the  great  demand  for  rabbits,  the  author 
writes  :  — "  In  all  towns  and  populous  districts  the 
demand  is  practically  unlimited,  and  has  increased  since 
the  Ground  Game  Act  came  into  force.  It  might  be 
supposed  that  the  market  would  be  glutted  when  the 
shooting  season  is  in  full  swing,  and  thousands  of 
rabbits  are  sold  daily  from  many  estates  ;  but  that  is 
not  the  case,  and  game-dealers  compete  keenly  with 
each  other  for  the  chance  of  securing  the  rabbits  at 
shootings,  and  will  attend  and  move  them  if  shot,  and 
pay  cash  down  for  them  if  required.  The  dealers  find 
ready  buyers  at  from  2s.  6d.  to  3,9.  6d.  per  couple,  and 
a  little  less  for  the  smallest  and  worst  shot.  But  a 
considerably  better  price  can  be  had  for  hand-killed 
rabbits  than  for  shot  ones."  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that  rabbits  are  the  favourite  luxury  of  the  poor  ;  and 
though  we  should  be  inclined  to  rate  the  constant 
market-value  at  from  2s.  to  is.  6d.  per  couple,  rather 
than  at  the  higher  value  given  above,  there  is  never  any 
difficulty  in  disposing  of  them  in  any  quantity,  and  at  a 
constant  price. 


WILD  RABBIT  FARMING  193 

The  reasons  for  the  economic  failure  of  rabbit-warrens 
hitherto  are  not  far  to  seek.  Opinion  on  the  subject  of 
the  wild  rabbit  has  long  pronounced  that  any  land — the 
worse  the  better — suits  rabbits  ;  and  when  this  has  been 
well  stocked  the  pasture  is  left,  without  manure,  or 
lime,  or  any  of  those  restorative  agents  which  are 
necessary  to  replace  the  waste  caused  by  the  sale  of  the 
rabbits  which  have  built  up  their  active  little  bodies 
from  the  produce  of  the  soil.  The  result  is  that  the 
catch  grows  yearly  less,  and  the  land  is  pronounced  to 
be  "rabbit-sick."  Rabbit  farming  can  only  be  con- 
ducted successfully  just  on  the  same  conditions  as  any 
other  form  of  stock-raising,  with  this  exception,  that 
the  habits  of  the  rabbit  make  it  peculiarly  suitable  for 
such  a  purpose.  It  is,  perhaps,  the  least  wasteful  feeder 
among  all  the  rodent  tribe.  Unlike  the  hare,  which  is 
dainty  and  particular,  and  causes  more  damage  to  crops 
by  wandering  from  place  to  place  to  satisfy  its  whims 
and  fancies  than  by  the  actual  needs  of  its  appetite,  the 
rabbits  move  slowly  forward  from  the  edge  of  the 
covert  or  burrow,  going  over  the  same  ground  every 
day.  If  the  burrows  are  properly  distributed  over  the. 
warren,  the  rabbits  will  eat  the  grass  down  as  it  grows, 
keeping  it  short  throughout  the  summer.  If  they  do 
not,  the  warren  is  either  ill-arranged  or  under-stocked. 
A  few  months  cover  the  whole  feeding  period  ;  and  by 
the  beginning  of  November  most  of  the  rabbits  should 
be  caught,  and  only  the  breeding-stock  left  through  the 
winter,  which  can  be  provided  with  artificial  food  at 
little  expense  in  long  frosts  or  snow.  Thus,  beyond 


i94       ROUND    THE   GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

keeping  up  the  fences  and  catching  the  rabbits,  for 
whose  wholesale  and  painless  capture  the  author  gives 
an  ingenious  and  simple  device  in  use  at  Wortley  Park, 
there  is  little  expenditure  either  on  labour  or  food  ;  and 
the  cost  of  protecting  the  warren  against  poachers  need 
only  extend  through  the  spring  and  summer,  before  the 
young  stock  has  been  caught,  for  no  one  would  think  it 
worth  while  to  attempt  to  catch  the  few  rabbits  left  to 
breed  in  the  winter.  The  only  point  of  which  we  have 
to  complain  in  Mr.  Simpson's  statement  is,  that  his 
figures  are  less  full  and  detailed  than  could  be  wished 
in  what  is  otherwise  a  very  suggestive  and  practical 
work.  Rabbits  are  clearly  in  demand  ;  and  the  time  is 
ripe  for  such  an  experiment  as  he  suggests,  which  would 
probably  yield  a  fair  profit  until  the  "  rabbit  pest "  in 
the  New  World  is  converted  into  a  source  of  wealth 
by  some  gigantic  "  canning  "  industry  for  the  supply  of 
the  English  market. 


I95 


BIRDS   IN   THE    FROST   FOG 

"And  now  there  came  both  mist  and  snow, 

And  it  grew  wondrous  cold." — Ancient  Mariner. 

THE  sufferings  which  fell  on  the  Ancient  Mariner 
and  his  comrades  for  the  wanton  killing  of  the  albatross 
were  the  penalty  of  a  bird  murder  of  the  most  aggra- 
vated kind,  for  in  killing  the  albatross  they  broke  the 
bond  of  an  alliance  formed  between  comrades  in  mis- 
fortune. The  sea-bird  suffered  from  the  fog  and  mist 
in  the  same  degree  and  in  the  same  way  as  did  the  lost 
ship's  crew.  They  saw  in  the  bird  a  comrade,  and  the 
bird  found  in  the  ship  and  its  crew  both  society  and  a 
home — 

"At  length  did  cross  an  Albatross, 

Through  the  fog  it  came ; 
As  it  had  been  a  Christian  soul, 
We  hailed  it  in  God's  name. 

In  mist  or  cloud,  on  mast  or  shroud, 

It  perched  for  vespers  nine  ; 
Whilst  all  the  night,  through  fog-smoke  white, 

Glimmered  the  bright  moonshine. 

It  ate  the  food  it  ne'er  had  eat, 

And  round  and  round  it  flew. 
The  ice  did  split  with  a  thunder  fit, 

And  the  helmsman  steered  us  through  ! " 


196       ROUND   THE    GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

Poets  have  an  instinctive  feeling  for  the  truth  of 
natural  life,  and  Coleridge  caught  and  developed  the 
probability  that  the  bird  was  baffled  and  bewildered  by 
the  mist  as  well  as  the  crew,  and  so  heightened  the 
feeling  of  good-will  between  the  sailors  and  the  white 
bird  of  the  sea.  For  birds  even  more  than  mankind 
suffer  in  continued  fogs  and  mist,  even  without  the  cold 
that  generally  accompanies  or  causes  them.  Men,  and 
all  things  that  walk,  can  usually  find  their  way  from 
point  to  point  by  working  from  one  well-known  land- 
mark to  the  next.  But  a  bird  flying  in  the  mist  is  like 
a  ship  in  the  sea-fog.  The  dull,  grey  cloud  lies 
between  it  and  the  earth,  and  shuts  out  all  guiding- 
marks  from  view  ;  and  when  once  it  has  lost  its  bear- 
ings, it  becomes  hopeless  and  distracted.  This  is  more 
especially  the  case  at  sea,  or  on  open  plains  or  downs, 
and  even  in  the  homestead  they  seem  torpid  and  afraid 
to  move.  The  Berkshire  peasants  have  a  word  for  the 
condition  of  bees  just  before  winter.  They  are  said  to 
be  "  droo," — and  this  exactly  describes  the  condition  of 
the  pigeons  and  fowls,  especially  the  former,  in  a  long 
frost  fog.  During  such  weather  the  white  pigeons 
sit  all  day  long  under  the  dovecote  eaves,  huddled  up 
as  if  asleep,  not  even  coming  to  the  ground  to  look 
for  food  ;  and  on  the  high  downs,  where  the  frost -fog 
drifts  all  day  like  frozen  smoke,  neither  the  cry  of  a 
bird  nor  the  stroke  of  a  wing  is  to  be  heard.  Great  is 
the  silence  of  the  mist.  No  horses  are  at  plough,  the 
sheep  are  down  in  the  straw-yards,  and  the  wide  hill- 


BIRDS  IN   THE  FROST  FOG  197 

tops  are  all  smoke  and  darkness.  It  is  like  the  atmo- 
sphere before  Ovid's  cave  of  sleep — 

"  Nebulae  caligine  mixtse 
Exhalantur  humo,  dubiaeque  crepuscula  lucis." 

Cobbett  calls  these  fogs  "  dry  clouds."  But  they  are 
not  always  dry  ;  oftener  they  condense  on  vegetation, 
and  make  everything  dripping  wet.  Their  area  is  very 
capricious.  For  many  days  in  January,  1888,  the  vales 
were  filled  with  dusky  rolling  vapour,  rising  to  a  level 
of  700  ft.,  while  the  hill-tops  were  in  bright  sunlight. 
Yet  the  larks  and  starlings  and  wood-pigeons  dare  not 
venture  through  the  fog  in  search  of  the  bright  weather 
above  it.  The  vapour  condensed  on  green  wood,  but 
not  on  dead,  and  the  woodlands  were  dripping  and 
uncomfortable.  The  wood-pigeons  were  afraid  to 
venture  from  the  plantations,  and  remained  in  them  all 
day,  drowsy  and  stupid  ;  and  pheasants,  which  run  in 
search  of  their  food,  and  so  feel  no  danger  of  being 
lost,  did,  in  fact,  wander  away  for  miles,  and  scattered 
from  their  head-quarters  in  the  preserves  all  over  the 
country.  On  the  downs,  when  a  sudden  drop  of 
temperature  covered  the  hill  also  with  fog,  and  turned 
the  water-drops  on  the  trees  into  crystal  tears,  the  birds 
all  retired  to  the  copses  of  beech  and  spruce-fir,  and  if 
disturbed,  would  flap  on  in  scores  for  a  short  distance, 
or  wheel  back  into  the  copse  behind  the  intruder,  not 
daring  to  leave  the  trees  for  the  murky  darkness  of  the 
fog.  At  such  times,  even  the  frequent  discharge  of  a 
gun  has  fewer  terrors  for  them  than  the  unknown 


198       ROUND  THE   GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

dangers  of  the  mist,  and  numbers  of  these  birds  are 
shot  in  small  plantations.  But  though  this  unusual 
tameness  is  partly  due  to  their  reluctance  to  leave 
the  landmark  of  the  wood,  they  have  also  another 
reason.  Birds,  looking  down  into  the  fog,  as  it  lies 
below  them  with  the  solid  earth  for  a  backing,  have 
far  more  difficulty  in  seeing  objects  beneath  them,  and 
so  avoiding  danger  from  below,  than  we  have  in  dis- 
tinguishing their  forms  against  the  sky,  which  must 
always  be  the  lightest  object  even  in  thick  fogs.  The 
writer  and  a  friend  had  once  some  curious  evidence  of 
the  additional  difficulty  and  danger  to  which  fog 
exposes  birds.  We  had  gone  up  on  to  the  top  of  the 
downs,  where  a  long  copse  skirted  the  road,  partly  to 
see  the  curious  effect  of  these  mists  freezing  on  the 
beech-trees,  partly  in  hopes  of  shooting  a  couple  of  the 
wood-pigeons  which  had  been  eating  the  turnip-tops  in 
safety  during  the  open  weather.  ,  For  some  time,  how- 
ever, the  mist  was  so  black  that  we  could  see  little,  and 
the  pigeons,  which  were  mostly  in  another  and  more 
distant  plantation,  were  afraid  to  move.  Soon,  how- 
ever, though  the  fog  hung  as  thickly  as  ever  on  the 
ground,  it  was  evident  that  there  was  a  clearing  in  the 
vapours  higher  up,  for  the  tops  of  some  poplar-trees 
which  grew  by  the  side  of  the  beech-copse,  and  rose 
some  thirty  feet  above  the  level  of  the  rest,  could  be 
seen  bright  with  sunlight.  These  branches  must  have 
stood  out  from  the  dark  sea  of  mist  as  trees  do  in  a 
flood,  and  probably  presented  some  such  appearance  to 
the  pigeons.  For  the  flocks,  which  soon  began  to  fly 


BIRDS  IN  THE  FROST  FOG  199 

about  in  the  welcome  light,  settled  on  these  trees, 
although  we  were  standing  below  them.  But  we  must 
have  been  quite  "Invisible  to  the  birds,  for  though  we 
shot  as  many  as  we  wanted,  fresh  numbers  constantly 
arrived  on  the  trees  at  the  foot  of  which  we  stood  in 
the  open  road.  In  this  road,  which  was  very  cold  and 
skirted  by  the  copse,  the.  fog  hung  closer  than  else- 
where, which  perhaps  accounted  for  our  invisibility. 
On  another  occasion,  the  writer  came  across  a  bird 
really  "lost  in  the  fog."  It  was  at  Moor  Allerton, 
near  Leeds,  a  village  which  stands  on  a  high  hill, 
crowned  by  a  large  wood.  By  the  road  near  the  wood 
stood  one  or  two  of  what  were  then  the  last  gas-lamps 
of  the  town.  Though  it  was  not  late  in  the  afternoon, 
the  fog  was  so  thick  that  these  were  lighted,  and  round 
one  of  them  was  flying  a  large  bird,  either  a  wood- 
pigeon  or  a  stock-dove,  which  had  probably  lost  its 
way  as  it  was  making  for  the  wood,  and  was  helplessly 
flying  round  the  twinkling  light.  It  continued  to  do 
so  as  long  as  the  writer  cared  to  wait,  but  must  have 
gone  on  later,  as  it  had  disappeared  when  he  returned. 

Wild  geese,  which  like  the  wood-pigeons  are  most 
wary  birds,  often  become  very  tame,  and  even  be- 
wildered, in  a  fog.  St.  John  used  to  shoot  them  easily 
in  the  bay  of  Findhorn  in  such  weather,  waiting  till 
they  flew  inland,  when  they  would  come  cackling  just 
over  his  head.  But  the  oddest  story  of  geese  in  the 
fog  comes  from  Norfolk,  and  was  told  to  Mr.  Steven- 
son, the  author  of  The  Birds  of  Norfolk^  by  the  Rev. 
,H.  T.  Frere.  A  large  flock  of  geese  were  attracted  to 


200       ROUND    THE  GREAT   WHITE   HORSE 

the  town  of  Diss  on  a  foggy  night  by  the  lights,  and 
from  the  sound  of  their  voices  seemed  to  fly  scarcely 
higher  than  the  tops  of  the  houses.  They  came  about 
seven  P.M.,  and  as  it  was  Sunday  evening,  they  appeared 
to  be  especially  attracted  by  the  lights  in  the  church, 
and  their  incessant  clamour  not  a  little  disturbed  the 
congregation  assembled  for  evening  service.  From  that 
time  until  two  A.M.,  when  the  fog  cleared  off  and  they 
departed,  they  continued  to  fly  round  and  round  utterly 
bewildered.  One  bird  happened  to  fly  so  low  as  to 
strike  a  gas-lamp  outside  the  town — probably,  like  the 
pigeon  at  Leeds,  it  was  flying  round  the  light — just  as 
a  policeman  was  passing  by,  who  very  properly,  as  the 
bird  was  making  a  great  ncise  outside  a  public-house, 
took  it  into  custody  ;  and  the  next  day  it  was  with 
equal  propriety  sent  off  to  a  private  lunatic  asylum  at 
Melton,  where  it  lived  for  some  years  an  honoured 
guest. 

Rooks  and  partridges  do  not  seem  to  alter  their 
habits  in  the  fog  so  much  as  other  birds  that  seek  their 
living  in  the  open  country.  Partridges  are,  if  anything, 
wilder  than  ever  ;  and  if  the  rooks  keep  nearer  home 
than  usual,  they  by  no  means  refuse  to  fly  ;  their  wings 
make  a  great  noise  in  the  silence  of  the  fog,  and  often 
the  first  notice  of  their  presence  is  the  flapping  of  the 
damp  wings  as  they  make  off  suddenly  before  the 
unwelcome  presence  of  man.  But  all  other  wild  birds 
keep  still  and  moping  till  the  darkness  goes.  The 
deprivation  of  light,  which  affects  all  animals  so  much, 
is  particularly  depressing  to  birds  ;  and  this  may  be 


BIRDS  IN  THE  FROST  FOG  201 

another  reason  for  their  unwillingness  to  move  in  the 
frost  fog.  Naturally  they  are  the  first  to  welcome  its 
departure.  As  the  mist  lifts  from  a  Scotch  hill-side, 
the  cock-grouse  begin  to  crow  ;  and  in  the  English 
fields,  the  rooks  caw,  the  small  birds  twitter,  and  the 
cocks  crow  in  the  barn-yards.  These  sounds  are  as 
certain  to  proclaim  the  lifting  of  the  fog  as  the 
"  London  cries "  to  begin  when  the  rain  stops. 


202 


ENGLISH  ANIMALS   IN   SNOW 

(THE  "WHITE  HORSE"  DOWNS) 

As  the  first  snow  fell  this  year  gently,  steadily,  and 
by  day,  instead  of  rushing  upon  us  in  a  midnight 
storm,  the  sheep,  not  waiting  until  it  pleased  the  snow- 
demon  either  to  bury  them  or  to  pass  on  to  mischief 
elsewhere,  drew  together  facing  the  wind,  and  stamped 
the  snow  down  incessantly  as  it  fell,  just  as  they  stamp 
their  feet  when  facing  a  strange  dog, — but  far  more 
rapidly  and  continuously.  Some  of  them  were  lambs 
of  the  year,  that  had  never  seen  a  snow-fall.  Yet 
these  creatures,  so  long  domesticated,  untaught  by 
experience,  were  by  instinct  using  the  same  means  to 
combat  the  snow,  their  greatest  enemy,  as  does  the  wild 
moose  in  the  Canadian  backwoods.  The  moose  would 
perish  like  the  sheep  in  the  drifts,  if  the  herds  did  not 
combine  to  trample  out  the  "  moose-yards  "  ;  and  these 
sturdy  Southdowns  were  showing  exactly  the  same 
instinct  in  an  English  park. 

But  snow  generally  catches  our  animals  unprepared — 
all  but  the  hedgehog,  who  is  comfortably  asleep,  rolled 
up  in  a  coat  of  leaves, — and  they  are  put  to  all  kinds  of 


ENGLISH  ANIMALS  IN  SNO  W  203 

shifts  to  find  food  and  escape  their  enemies.  The  more 
open  and  exposed  the  districts,  the  greater  their  diffi- 
cult ies.  Where  there  are  thick  woods  and  hedgerows, 
and,  above  all>  running  water,  birds  and  beasts  alike  can 
find  dry  earth  in  which  to  peck  and  scratch,  or  green 
things  to  nibble,  and  water  to  drink.  But  on  the 
great  chalk-downs,  a  heavy  snow-storm  seems  to  drive 
from  the  open  country  every  living  creature  that  dares 
to  move  at  all.  For  the  first  day  after  a  heavy  fall, 
the  hares,  which  allow  the  snow  to  cover  them,  all  but 
a  tiny  hole  made  by  their  warm  breath,  do  not  stir. 
Only  towards  noon,  if  the  sun  shines  out,  they  make  a 
small  opening  to  face  its  beams,  and  perhaps  another  in 
the  afternoon,  at  a  different  angle  to  the  surface,  to 
catch  the  last  slanting  rays.  Walking  across  the  fields 
after  a  violent  snow-storm  in  January,  the  writer  stepped 
on  a  hare,  though  the  field  showed  one  level  stretch  of 
driven  snow  ;  and  later  in  the  day,  from  the  brow  of  a 
steep,  narrow  valley,  the  sun-holes  made  by  the  hares 
were  easily  marked  on  the  opposite  ridge.  Four  or 
five  were  discovered  in  this  way  ;  and  on  disturbing 
them,  it  was  found  that  each  had  its  two  windows, 
one  facing  the  south,  the  second  and  longer  tunnel 
pointing  further  to  the  west,  and  at  a  sharper  angle  to 
the  surface.  But  hunger  soon  forces  the  hares  to  leave 
their  snug  snow-house  ;  in  the  bitter  nights,  as  the,  icy 
wind  sweeps  through  the  thin  beech-copses  on  the 
downs,  and  piles  up  huge  ice-puddings  of  drifted  snow 
and  beech- leaves,  they  canter  off  down  into  the  vale, 
to  eat  the  cabbages  in  the  cottage-gardens,  and  nibble 


204       ROUND   THE   GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

the  turnips  in  the  heaps  opened  to  feed  the  sheep  in 
the  straw-yards.  Squirrels,  which  are  often  supposed  to 
hibernate,  only  retire  to  their  nests  in  very  severe  and 
prolonged  frosts.  A  slight  fall  of  snow  only  amuses 
them,  and  they  will  come  down  from  their  trees  and 
scamper  over  the  powdery  heaps  with  immense  enjoy- 
ment. What  they  do  not  like  is  the  snow  on  the 
leaves  and  branches,  which  falls  in  showers  as  they 
jump  from  tree  to  tree,  and  betrays  them  to  their 
enemies,  the  country  boys.  During  a  mild  winter 
they  even  neglect  to  make  a  central  store  of  nuts,  and 
instead  of  storing  them  in  big  hoards  near  the  nest, 
just  drop  them  into  any  convenient  hole  they  know  of 
near.  A  pair  took  possession  of  an  old,  well-timbered 
garden  in  Berkshire,  and  when  they  found  out,  as  they 
very  soon  did,  that  they  were  not  to  be  disturbed, 
continued  during  the  mild,  open  weather  to  exhibit  a 
reckless  improvidence  quite  at  variance  with  squirrel 
tradition.  In  October  they  stripped  the  old  nut-trees, 
but  flung  the  greater  number  of  the  nuts  on  to  the 
ground.  Later  in  the  autumn  they  spent  the  greater 
part  of  each  morning  collecting  and  burying  horse- 
chestnuts,  not  in  any  proper  store,  but  in  all  sorts  of 
places, — among  the  roots  of  rose-bushes,  under  the 
palings  of  the  lawn,  or  in  the  turf  under  a  big  tulip- 
tree.  Almost  every  knot-hole  in  the  trees  of  the 
orchard  and  walks  had  a  chestnut  or  walnut  poked 
into  it  ;  but  there  was  no  attempt  to  bring  them 
together  for  a  cold-weather  magazine  :  and  they  even 
had  the  impudence  to  dig  up  crocus-bulbs  under  the 


ENGLISH  ANIMALS  IN  SNO  W  205 

windows,  and  leave  them  scattered  over  the  lawn. 
Then  came  the  snow,  and  the  improvident  squirrels 
had  to  set  to  work  at  once  and  call  in  all  these 
scattered  investments  at  an  alarming  sacrifice,  for  the 
nuthatches  very  soon  found  out  their  carelessly  hidden 
property  and  made  off  with  it.  Fortunately  the  snow 
soon  melted,  or  they  might  have  been  reduced  to  short 
rations. 

Like  the  squirrels,  rabbits  seem  rather  to  enjoy  the 
snow  at  first.  Like  many  men,  they  require  a  dry, 
bracing  atmosphere,  and  sea-breezes  and  frost  suit 
them  ;  and  the  morning  after  a  snowfall  their  tracks 
show  where  they  have  been  scratching  and  playing 
in  it  all  night.  But  after  a  deep  fall  they  are  soon 
in  danger  of  starving.  Though  not  particular  as  to 
quality,  they  like  their  meals  "reg'lar,"  and  with 
all  the  grass  covered  with  a  foot  of  snow  their  main 
supply  of  food  is  cut  off.  If  there  is  a  turnip-field 
near,  they  will  scratch  away  the  snow  to  the  roots, 
and  soon  destroy  the  crop.  If  not,  or  if  the  surface 
of  the  snow  is  frozen  hard,  the  hungry  bunnies  strip 
the  bark  from  the  trees  and  bushes.  In  the  long 
frost  of  February,  1888,  we  saw  nothing  but  bare 
white  wood  in  the  fences  near  the  warrens.  Ivy  bark 
seemed  their  favourite  food,  and  even  the  oldest  stems 
were  stripped,  making  a  white  network  against  the 
trunks  of  the  big  trees.  Even  these  did  not  quite 
escape,  for  though  the  lower  bark  was  too  hard  and 
dry  even  for  the  rabbits,  broken  limbs  of  a  foot  in 
diameter,  smashed  by  the  weight  of  snow,  were  peeled 


206       ROUND   THE   GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

to  the  bare  wood.  In  some  places  the  rabbits  had 
first  stripped  the  bark  from  the  lower  part  of  a  clipped 
thorn  fence  ;  then  mounted  to  the  top  and  nibbled 
the  shoots  ;  and  lastly,  using  the  thick  top  as  a  seat, 
had  nibbled  the  ivy  bark  from  the  trees  in  the  hedge- 
row, eight  feet  from  the  ground.  It  is  easy  to  guess 
what  damage  the  starving  rabbits  do  in  young  planta- 
tions, if  the  drifted  snow  enables  them  to  scramble 
over  the  wire  fencing. 

When  snow  melts  on  the  grass,  any  one  may  notice 
a  number  of  dead,  frozen  earth-worms  lying  on  the 
flattened  sward.  This  may  account  for  a  habit  which 
moles  have  of  working  just  between  the  earth  and 
snow.  When  the  thaw  comes,  the  lower  half  of  the 
burrow  may  be  seen  for  yards  along  the  surface  of 
the  ground,  unless  the  upper  crust  was  frozen  before 
the  snow  fell.  While  all  the  harmless  animals  are 
obliged  to  spend  the  greater  part  of  the  day  and  night 
seeking  food,  their  enemies  profit  exceedingly.  The 
stoats  and  weasels  find  that  they  have  only  to  prowl 
down  the  stream-side  to  catch  any  number  of  thrushes 
and  soft-billed  birds  which  crowd  the  banks  where 
the  water  melts  the  snow,  and  little  piles  of  feathers 
and  a  drop  or  two  of  red  on  the  snow  show  where 
the  fierce  little  beasts  have  murdered  here  a  redwing 
and  there  a  wagtail,  or  even  a  water-hen.  The  tracks 
show  well  their  method  of  hunting.  Once  we  followed 
the  tracks  of  a  fox  for  a  long  distance  from  a  large 
earth  on  the  downs.  He  had  begun  by  visiting  a  farm 
near,  going  round  all  the  ricks,  and  then  close  to  the 


ENGLISH  ANIMALS  IN  SNOW      .        207 

house.  Apparently  he  had  been  frightened,  for  he 
had  gone  off  at  a  gallop.  Then  after  keeping  along 
a  high,  steep  bank  where  there  was  a  chance  of  finding 
a  lark  roosting  in  the  rough  grass  at  the  edge,  he 
had  diverged  to  examine  a  patch  of  dead  nettles  which 
had  sprung  up  round  a  weed-heap.  Next  he  had 
gone  off  for  half-a-mile  in  a  straight  line  to  a  barn, 
and  there,  after  examining  every  bush  and  straw-rick, 
had  caught  a  rat  or  a  mouse,  and  then  gone  off  into 
the  vale.  Not  far  off  was  his  return  track.  He  had 
gone  a  short  distance  on  the  track  of  a  hare,  but 
apparently  had  found  a  good  supper  before  then,  for 
in  a  few  yards  he  had  abandoned  the  trail  and  gone 
straight  back  to  the  earth.  The  same  day  we  found 
the  traces  of  a  tragedy  in  rabbit-life  :  the  footmarks 
of  several  bunnies  just  outside  a  thick  brake,  the  traces 
of  a  fox  creeping  cautiously  up  the  hedgerow  between 
them  and  their  earths,  and  the  fox's  rush  from  the 
bushes,  ending  in  a  broad  mark  in  the  snow,  where  a 
rabbit  had  been  seized,  leaving  only  a  few  bits  of 
grey  hair  scattered  about  as  memorials  for  his  family. 
Walking  along  the  road  through  the  flat  meadows 
one  snowy  night,  we  were  startled  by  the  noise  of 
a  covey  of  partridges  rising  and  cackling  the  other 
side  of  the  hedge.  A  fox  had  sprung  right  among 
the  covey,  but  apparently  missed  his  mark,  as  the 
next  moment  he  crossed  the  road  in  front  of  us. 
Water-shrews,  water-rats,  and  otters  all  dislike  frost 
and  snow,  more,  perhaps,  because  the  streams  are 
frozen,  and  food  more  difficult  to  obtain  along  the 


208       ROUND    THE   GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

banks  than  from  any  inconvenience  the  snow  causes 
them.  The  otters,  even  if  the  rivers  do  not  freeze, 
have  a  difficulty  in  finding  the  fish,  which  in  cold 
weather  sink  into  the  deepest  pools,  and,  in  the  case 
of  eels,  tench,  and  carp,  which  form  the  main  food 
of  the  otter  in  the  slow  rivers  of  the  eastern  and  south- 
eastern counties,  burrow  in  the  mud.  So  the  otters 
go  down  to  the  sea-coast  for  the  cold  weather,  and 
making  their  homes  in  the  coast-caves  or  old  wooden 
jetties  and  wharves,  live  on  the  dabs  and  flounders 
of  the  estuaries.  Rats  also  often  migrate  to  the  coast 
in  snow-time  and  pick  up  a  disreputable  livelihood 
among  the  rubbish  of  the  shore.  Of  all  effects  of 
weather,  snow  makes  the  greatest  change  in  animal 
economy  in  the  country-side,  and  weeks  often  pass 
before  the  old  order  is  restored. 


209 


RUSTIC   NATURALISTS 

THE  erection  of  the  memorial  to  Richard  JefFeries  in 
Salisbury  Cathedral,  and  the  raising  of  a  fund  for  the 
benefit  of  his  family,  are  additional  evidence  of  the 
favour  with  which  the  public  looks  upon  the  work  of 
the  prose-poet  of  the  Downs  country.  His  birthplace 
at  Cote  Farm  has  even  become  a  place  of  pilgrimage  ; 
and  his  admirers  doubtless  imagine  that  they  trace  in 
the  old  farmhouse,  and  the  daily  life  of  its  inmates,  the 
natural  and  appropriate  environment  of  a  consummate 
writer  on  the  wild  life  of  the  fields. 

The  inference  is  a  very  natural  one.  But  if  such  a 
life  and  such  surroundings  thus  predispose  the  mind 
to  see  what  JefFeries  saw,  and  to  interpret  nature  as  he 
interpreted  it,  why  is  it,  we  may  ask,  that  so  few  of  the 
writers  who  have  treated  of  these  subjects  have  sprung 
from  the  class  to  which  JefFeries  belonged  ?  And  why 
in  the  instances  in  which  they  have  been  born  the 
sons  of  small  farmers,  or  labouring  men,  have  they  been 
so  reluctant  to  abide  among  the  scenes  which  they 
and  JefFeries  so  charmingly  described  ?  Thomas 
Bewick  is  one  of  the  few  instances  of  a  farm-bred 

p 


210       ROUND    THE   GREAT   WHITE  HORSE  . 

naturalist  returning  by  an  uncontrollable  impulse  to  live 
near  the  scenes  of  his  boyhood.  "  I  would  rather  be 
herding  sheep  on  Mickley  Bank  top,"  he  wrote  home, 
"  than  be  one  of  the  richest  citizens  of  London."  But 
Cobbett,  the  son  of  a  labourer,  abandoned  the  village 
when  a  lad  ;  the  Howicks,  like  the  late  Edward  Bates, 
were  citizens  of  "  fair  Nottingham,"  and  Gilbert 
White,  Charles  Kingsley,  and  Waterton,  were  parsons 
or  squires.  Jefferies  himself,  like  Cobbett,  longed  to 
shake  off  his  early  associations,  and  his  mad  enterprise 
of  a  walk  to  Russia  when  a  boy,  and  failing  that,  of 
crossing  the  Atlantic,  was  only  prevented  by  want  of 
means.  To  the  last  he  would  rather  have  been  a 
novelist  than  a  naturalist,  and  declared  that  he  knew 
London  quite  as  well  as  he  did  the  country.  No 
doubt  the  sense  of  contrast  so  presented,  painted  the 
beauties  of  the  country  in  more  vivid  colours  in  the 
mind  of  Jefferies,  as  in  that  of  Cobbett.  But  it  will  be 
found  that  the  rustic  naturalist  does  not,  except  in  rare 
instances,  spring  from  the  classes  who  spend  their 
serious  life  in  the  fields.  For  the  common  labourer, 
his  daily  toil  is  too  severe  ;  for  the  farmer,  the  prac- 
tical problems  are  too  exacting.  How  exacting  that 
strain  is,  mentally  and  physically,  both  for  master  and 
man,  the  reader  may  gather  from  Jefferies'  description 
of  the  harvesting  of  the  hundred-acre  cornfield,  in  his 
essay  on  the  "  Loaf  of  Bread." 

It  is  only  the  shepherds  of  the  hills,  while  keeping 
their  flocks  as  of  old,  who  are  free  to  see  visions  and 
dream  dreams,  or  watch  the  stars  and  nature.  For  the 


RUSTIC  NATURALISTS  211 

rest,  such  contemplation  fails  to  give  the  change  of 
thoughts  they  need.  Like  Piers  the  Ploughman,  they 
would  turn  their  backs  upon  the  fields  and  go 

"Wide  into  the  world, 
Wonders  for  to  hear." 

It  must  not,  however,  be  supposed  that  because  the 
farmer  and  farm  labourer  usually  confine  their  interests 
in  outdoor  life  to  the  practical  problems  of  the  land,  the 
rustic  naturalist  is  a  rare  or  eccentric  character  in  village 
life.  There  are  numbers  of  men  employed  in  sedentary 
occupations  in  villages  and  small  country  towns,  who 
find  in  the  pursuit  of  natural  history  the  same  change 
and  excitement  which  the  London  artisan  does  in  his 
favourite  hobby  of  angling  in  the  well-fished  waters  of 
the  Thames  and  Lea.  Village  tailors,  cobblers,  and 
harness-makers  are  among  the  greatest  enthusiasts  of 
this  class.  The  most  intelligent  of  the  class  whom  the 
writer  has  known  was,  like  Thomas  Edward,  the  Banff 
naturalist,  a  shoemaker.  His  trade  was  hereditary,  and 
accidental.  Mechanical  invention  was  the  natural 
tendency  of  his  mind  ;  he  learned  the  whole  of  Euclid, 
taught  himself  algebra,  and  became  a  rapid  and  exact 
calculator.  Had  he  lived  in  Lancashire,  and  not  in  a 
country  village,  he  would  have  improved  the  machinery 
in  the  mill  or  invented  a  new  process.  As  it  was,  the 
sole  mechanical  appliances  open  to  his  observation  were 
those  used  in  making  tiles  and  bricks.  For  this  he 
invented  new  machinery,  and  went  to  London  to 
exhibit  his  drawings.  There  his  ideas  were  stolen ;  and 


2i2       ROUND    THE    GREAT    WHITE  HORSE 

he  returned,  in  broken  health  and  spirits,  to  become  a 
naturalist,  and  so  to  "  drive  machinery  out  of  his  head." 
The  change  of  ideas  so  obtained  saved  his  health,  and 
possibly  his  reason.  By  day  he  worked  resolutely  at 
his  trade.  Experience  had  taught  him  the  value  of 
silence  ;  and  he  discouraged  gossip  by  filling  his  mouth 
with  wooden  shoe-pegs,  and  hammering  these  one  by  one 
into  the  boot-soles,  on  the  approach  of  a  visitor.  At 
night, "  when  the  wheels  began  to  work  in  his  head,"  as 
he  afterwards  explained,  he  took  his  butterfly  net, 
collecting-boxes,  and  dark  lantern,  and  went  out  into 
the  lanes  to  collect  moths.  His  favourite  hunting- 
ground  was  a  dark  and  little-frequented  road,  bordered 
by  trees,  palings,  and  thick  fences,  which  was  avoided 
by  most  of  the  village  people,  except  by  lovers  on  June 
evenings.  But  there  are  moths  to  be  caught  in 
winter  nights  as  well  as  in  summer,  and  the  shoemaker 
was  as  indifferent  to  solitude  and  darkness  as  the  owls 
and  nightjars  which  were  his  only  companions.  His 
garden  was  soon  turned  into  a  butterfly-farm.  In  it  he 
planted  the  trees  and  shrubs  whose  leaves  form  the  food 
of  the  rarer  caterpillars,  and  as  soon  as  the  eggs  laid  by 
the  females  were  hatched,  they  were  turned  out  to 
pasture  on  the  poplars,  privets,  and  alanthus,  and 
protected  from  the  birds  by  ingeniously  made  coverings 
of  muslin.  One  day  he  discovered  that  a  certain  old 
willow-tree  was  full  of  goat-moth  caterpillars.  This 
tree  he  bought  "for  fuel,"  and  put  aside  until  such 
time  as  the  perforated  trunk  yielded  a  rich  harvest  of 
the  rare  goat-moth  chrysalises.  The  boxes  for  his 


RUSTIC  NATURALISTS  213 

specimens  he  made  himself.  In  the  course  of  a  few 
years  he  formed  a  complete  collection  of  the  butter- 
flies and  moths  of  the  district,  and  became  familiar  with 
the  other  wild  life  of  the  county  ;  he  also  added  music 
to  his  accomplishments,  and  learned  the  delicate  craft  of 
violin-making.  Under  the  composing  influence  of  his 
naturalist  pursuits,  his  nerves  recovered  their  balance, 
until  his  mechanical  bent  could  be  indulged  without 
danger ;  and  he  is  at  present  said  to  be  planning 
the  illumination  of  his  native  village  with  electric 
lights. 

The  writer  has  more  than  once  tried  to  enlist  the 
services  of  the  rural  policemen  to  observe  the  habits  of 
night-flying  and  night-feeding  birds  and  beasts.  In 
many  counties  these  men  are  drawn  from  an  intelligent 
class,  and  they  often  practise  flower-gardening  and  bee- 
keeping with  great  success.  But  the  village  constable, 
though  he  often  makes  a  useful  assistant-astronomer,  is 
less  successful  as  a  naturalist  ;  and  though  he  can  be 
educated  to  report  the  movements  of  comets  and  erratic 
meteors  with  professional  accuracy,  he  generally  prefers 
the  starry  company  of  the  Pleiades  to  listening  to  the 
night  birds  in  the  dark  shadow  of  the  pollards,  or  by 
the  still  pools  in  the  valley.  In  the  periodical  scares 
caused  by  the  threatened  introduction  of  some  new 
pest,  the  lofty  indifference  of  the  rural  constable  to  the 
insects  and  other  "  vermin  "  which  he  permits  to  crawl 
unnoticed  on  his  beat,  sometimes  leads  to  trouble 
and  perplexity.  During  the  Colorado-beetle  panic,  a 
thoughtful  Government  caused  portraits  of  the  sus- 


214      ROUND   THE    GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

pected  insect  to  be  circulated  in  rural  districts, 
accompanied  by  other  and  highly  magnified  enlarge- 
ments of  its  appearance  in  the  grub  and  pupa  stage. 
Naturally,  the  last  were  the  more  striking  to  the 
imagination,  the  "life-size"  portrait  carrying  little 
conviction  beside  the  large  and  variegated  monster  in 
the  magnified  plate.  So  guided  and  so  informed,  the 
rural  policemen  were  all  on  the  watch  to  arrest  the 
delinquent  beetle,  as  they  would  any  other  "  party " 
who  was  "wanted,"  and  whose  portrait  was  circulated 
from  head-quarters  for  identification.  An  opportunity 
for  distinction  soon  occurred.  Two  enormous  cater- 
pillars (of  the  death's-head  moth)  were  found  by  a 
labourer  on  his  potato-patch,  and  by  him  carried  to  the 
house  of  a  lady  who  took  an  interest  in  entomology. 
The  caterpillars  were  received,  and  the  labourer,  praised 
and  rewarded,  took  care  to  let  his  friends  in  the  village 
know  what  a  clever  fellow  he  was.  The  discovery  of 
strange  caterpillars  in  the  potato-bed  was  discussed  ;  and 
next  day  the  local  constable,  in  the  absence  of  the  lady, 
called,  and  demanded  to  see  the  creatures.  These  he 
compared  with  the  illustrations  in  his  possession,  and 
pointed  out  that  they  were  as  big,  or  even  bigger,  than 
the  awful  monster  there  depicted.  He  then  "took 
up  "  the  caterpillars,  and  carried  them  off  by  the  next 
train  to  the  county  town,  where  they  were  discharged 
after  due  inquiry,  and  returned,  with  apologies,  to  their 
owner.  The  policeman's  ally,  the  gamekeeper,  seldom 
lets  his  interests  extend  beyond  the  habits  and  require- 
ments of  the  very  limited  number  of  creatures  which 


R  USTIC  NA  TURALISTS  215 

it  is  his  business  to  protect  or  destroy  ;  but  the  close 
and  accurate  observation  which  these  duties  require  make 
him  in  many  cases  an  intelligent  and  useful  auxiliary 
when  properly  directed.  But  the  class  which  supplies 
the  greatest  number  of  observing,  as  distinguished  from 
collecting,  naturalists  in  the  villages,  is  the  brotherhood 
of  shepherds  upon  the  Downs.  Partly  from  the 
solitude  of  their  life,  a  solitude  so  great,  that,  in  spite 
of  the  rural  etiquette  which  forbids  any  one  to  pass  a 
shepherd  without  speaking  to  him,  these  men  often 
forget  how  to  pitch  their  voices  in  the  tones  of  ordinary 
speech,  and  partly  from  being  concerned  solely  with 
animals  and  not  with  agriculture,  the  shepherds  have 
the  keenest  eyes  and  most  minute  knowledge  of  animal 
habits  of  any  class  in  the  country-side.  It  may  safely 
be  assumed  that  no  animal  larger  than  a  rat,  and  no 
bird  bigger  than  a  quail,  appears  upon  the  hill,  even  for 
a  few  days,  unnoticed  by  the  shepherds.  They  know 
the  movements  of  the  hares  and  foxes  so  exactly,  that 
the  writer  has  seen  them  point  out  the  particular  spot 
in  a  ten-acre  field  of  barley  or  beans,  in  which  the 
leverets  or  cubs  would  be  lying.  They  know  in  which 
copse  the  long-eared  owls,  the  sparrow-hawks,  or 
kestrels  are  nesting,  and  the  most  likely  stony  patch  for 
the  curlew's  eggs  or  plover's  nest.  They  can  foretell 
the  approach  of  rain  or  wind,  or  judge  the  relative 
value  of  the  herbage  on  one  side  of  the  down  and  on 
the  other.  They  know  the  times  when  the  springs 
will  break  out,  the  signs  of  plenty,  and  the  tokens  of 
dearth.  Like  the  shepherds  of  Greece,  they  still  play 


216       ROUND    THE   GREAT   WHITE  HORSE 

the  pipe  and  strike  the  tuneful  strings,  though  the 
instrument  is  the  violin  and  not  the  lyre,  and  the  scene 
the  cottage  on  the  Downs,  and  not  the  groves  of 
Arcady.  With  them  the  love  of  Nature  is  neither  a 
hobby  nor  an  anodyne,  but  the  hereditary  and 
spontaneous  accompaniment  of  the  oldest  and  most 
primitive  occupation  of  civilized  man. 


IN   THE   ISIS    VALLEY 


THE    ISIS   IN   JUNE 

ON  the  margin  of  a  black-letter  Herbal  and  Natural 
History,  published  early  in  the  sixteenth  century,  and 
now  in  the  library  of  Hertford  College,  I  find  this 
entry  opposite  to  a  quaint  woodcut  of  a  swallow  : 
"This  day,  I  did  see  a  sea-swallow  on  Port 
Meadow." 

Sea-swallows  still  find  their  way  from  time  to  time 
to  the  streams  which  border  Port  Meadow  ;  and  if  any 
one  desires  a  change  from  the  tiring  festivities  of 
Commemoration,  he  may  well  follow  the  example  set 
by  the  sea-swallow  300  years  ago,  and  seek  it  by  the 
Oxford  river.  The  last  time  that  I  was  there  the 
backwater  at  Medley  lock  was  covered  by  the  boats  of 
the  rival  establishments  of  Beasly  and  Bossom,  families 
which  have  long  been  at  the  head  of  the  riverine 
population  of  Oxford.  A  Beasly  has  for  many  years 
stroked  the  city  four  and  city  eight  to  victory.  It  was 
a  Beasly — "  Fighting  Beasly  " — who  upheld  the  honour 


2i8  IN  THE  ISIS    VALLEY 

of  Oxford  against  the  bargee  from  the  Potteries  who 
had  fought  and  beaten  successively  the  local  champions 
at  each  stopping-place  by  the  canal  on  his  way  from  the 
Midlands.  Roused  from  his  bed — for  he  was  "in 
training"  and  had  retired  early — he  met  the  insolent 
foe  and  defeated  him  in  less  than  thirty  rounds. 

On  the  other  hand,  perhaps  the  boats  of  Bossom  out- 
number those  of  Beasly.  The  largest  house-boat  at 
Medley  is  inhabited  by  a  Bossom.  Behind  it,  in 
diminishing  series,  are  other  house-boats — his  "  cast 
shells,"  so  to  say,  which  he  has  outgrown,  like  a  water- 
snail.  I  hired  a  gig,  and  placing  in  it  my  rod,  rowed 
gently  up  to  Rosamond's  Bower  at  Godstow.  On  the 
left  were  the  Wytham  Woods  ;  on  the  right  the  great 
flat  of  Port  Meadow,  covered  with  the  cattle  and  geese 
of  the  freemen  of  Oxford.  Half-way  to  Godstow  is  a 
marsh,  noted  for  rare  water-plants,  where  among  beds 
of  arrowhead  and  forget-me-not  I  found  that  beautiful 
plant  the  water- villarsia.  It  is  not  unlike  a  water-lily, 
but  even  more  graceful,  with  the  edges  of  its  leaves 
scalloped  and  slightly  upturned  ;  the  petals  of  its 
yellow  flower  are  alternately  opaque  and  semi-trans- 
parent, the  latter  delicately  frilled,  Here,  too,  was  the 
flowering  rush,  tall  as  the  iris,  bearing  a  coronet  of  pale 
rose-pink  flowers.  By  this  time  the  geese  had  made  up 
their  minds  that  I  was  not  to  be  trusted  ;  and,  forming 
a  phalanx  of  some  200,  with  their  yellow  goslings  in 
the  centre,  marched  to  the  river  and  swam  to  the  mud- 
bank  which  they  occupy  at  night.  I  also  took  to  the 
water,  and  rowed  up  to  Godstow — once  the  fairest  spot 


THE  ISIS  IN  JUNE  219 

upon  the  upper  river,  but  now  disfigured  by  the  works 
of  the  new  Thames  drainage  scheme.  The  tiny  lock 
stream  is  now  a  hideous  straight  cut,  to  make  which 
the  stone  coffins  of  the  prioresses  were  disturbed  and 
displaced.  The  venerable  walls  of  Rosamond's  Bower, 
covered  with  thick  ivy,  are  still  standing  ;  but  many  of 
the  trees  are  cut  down,  and  the  position  of  the  old 
bridge  and  inn  has  lost  its  meaning  by  the  alteration  of 
the  river's  course.  In  time  the  remains  of  Godstow  will 
disappear,  as  those  of  Osney  and  the  greater  part  of  the 
castle  have  also  gone.  Collegiate  Oxford  flourishes  ; 
feudal  and  monastic  Oxford  seems  doomed  to  neglect. 
It  is  strange  that,  while  the  buildings  of  Godstow  perish, 
frailer  relics  of  the  nun's  occupation  remain.  The  me- 
dicinal herbs  which  they  planted  in  the  garden  still 
survive  in  the  fields  and  upon  the  broken  walls. 

In  a  copse  near  the  ruins  I  found  many  nests  of  the 
reed-warbler,  all  placed  in  the  wild  hopbine  which 
grows  among  the  willows,  and  lined  with  the  cottonlike 
down  of  some  waterside  plant.  Over  the  shallow 
stream  below  the  "  Trout "  a  kingfisher  was  hovering 
in  mid-air,  his  wings  vibrating  and  invisible,  till  he 
plunged  and  seized  his  game. 

In  the  garden  of  the  inn  I  began  my  fishing.  I  say 
"  in  the  garden,"  because  it  is  a  maxim  among  chub- 
fishers  that  to  take  the  largest  chub  you  must  procure 
the  biggest  bumble-bees  as  bait.  I  look  upon  this  as 
the  most  difficult  part  of  the  sport.  Chub  are  not  hard 
to  catch,  but  bumble-bees  are.  A  quick  eye  and  steady 
hand  are  not  required  to  catch  chub,  neither  is  nerve 


220  IN  THE  ISIS    VALLEY 

demanded  in  any  measure  :  all  these  qualities  are 
brought  into  play  in  taking  bumble-bees.  The  snap- 
dragons in  the  garden  yielded  some  bumbles,  and  I 
presently  attacked  the  less  noble  game,  the  chub,  who 
were  lying  above  in  the  Pixies'  Pool,  greedy  but  sus- 
picious. In  order  to  keep  out  of  sight,  I  thrust  my 
rod  between  the  sides  of  a  cleft  willow,  and  made  my 
bee  play  upon  the  water.  After  a  few  shy  rises,  a 
monster  chub  came  slowly  from  the  bottom,  swallowed 
the  bee,  and  whisked  down  again.  We  had  a  violent 
struggle  for  a  minute,  complicated  by  the  awkward 
position  of  my  rod.  Soon,  however,  he  came  exhausted 
to  the  surface,  and,  passing  the  butt  of  my  rod  round 
the  willow,  I  landed  him.  "Stuff  him  with  pickled 
oysters,"  says  Izaak  Walton,  "  and  baste  him  well  with 
claret  wine,  and  you  shall  find  him  choicely  good 
meat."  I  doubt  it,  and  doubt  equally  whether  it  is 
worth  while  to  experiment  with  Izaak's  recipe. 

In  the  summer  of  1893  the  Upper  Isis  was  almost 
vanquished  by  the  sun.  All  its  outlying  streams  were 
sucked  dry.  The  long  drought  and  heats  burnt  every 
meadow  brown,  and  the  foliage  of  the  hedgerows  were 
gnawed  and  bruised  by  the  hungry  cattle.  Even  the 
main  streams  and  river  were  invaded,  and  not  only  the 
rushes  and  sedge  upon  the  banks,  but  the  water-lilies 
and  arrowheads  in  the  running  water  were  browsed  and 
cropped  level  by  horses  and  oxen.  Next  year  came  the 
turn  of  the  river  and  the  land.  The  latter  had  drunk 
seven  months  of  sun,  and  the  summer  rains  of  the  next 
season  brought  the  vegetation  into  life  with  almost 


THE  ISIS  IN  JUNE  221 

tropical  swiftness.  The  result  was  a  crop  not  only  of 
leaf,  but  of  flowers,  of  the  richest  and  most  luxuriant 
growth.  In  the  river-side  gardens,  the  stems  of  the 
white  lilies  were  six  and  seven  feet  high,  the  clustered 
roses  almost  broke  their  branches,  the  honeysuckle  tore 
itself  from  the  walls  by  its  weight  of  blossom,  and  the 
second  crop  of  grass  was  smothered  with  field-flowers. 
For  the  moment  the  gardens  eclipsed  the  fields  both  in 
scent  and  colour,  though  the  sense  was  almost  oppressed 
by  the  heavy  odour  of  the  drying  hay-ricks.  But  in 
the  gardens  there  was  a  blending  of  delicate  scents  such 
as  has  not  been  known  for  years.  There  has  grown  up 
a  fashion  of  preferring  mere  odours  to  perfumes,  perhaps 
because  the  aesthetic  perception,  which  has  learnt  to 
appreciate  many  things  which  it  did  not,  is  forgetting 
the  value  of  what  needed  no  teaching.  The  taste  for 
wild-flowers  is  almost  losing  its  sense  of  proportion, 
when  ox-eyed  field-daisies  are  bought  in  the  streets  by 
preference  to  roses,  and  at  an  equal  price.  But  what- 
ever the  canons  of  beauty,  that  of  scent  can  hardly 
change.  The  rose  has  still  the  purest  perfume  in 
Nature.  Let  those  who  are  forgetting  it,  go  down  to 
the  country,  and  walk  among  the  rose-gardens  in  the 
morning,  as  the  sun  is  drying  the  dew  on  their  petals 
in  mid-July.  The  flower  fancies  of  the  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream  were  woven  in  the  fresh  hours  of 
midsummer  mornings,  as  well  as  of  summer  twilight, 
and  it  was  then  that  the  poet  remembered  to  make  his 
night-flying  fairy-queen  send  her  elves — 

"  Some  to  kill  cankers  in  the  musk-rose  buds  ; " 


222  IN  THE  ISIS    VALLEY 

while  more  true  to  fairy  hours — 

"  Some  war  with  rere-mice  for  their  leathern  wings." 

It  was  the  same  hour  which  made  Milton  for  once 
strike  a  note  of  gladness,  unborrowed  from  the  con- 
ventions of  his  classic  store,  and  bid  the  Nymph  of 
Gladness — 

"  At  his  window  bid  good-morrow, 

Through  the  sweet-briar,  or  the  vine, 

Or  the  twisted  eglantine." 

And  it  was  the  rose-gardens  of  Damascus,  in  which, 
then  as  now,  the  Syrian  lords  sat  among  the  damask 
flowers  by  the  rushing  stream  from  Lebanon,  that 
Naaman  had  in  mind  when  he  asked  if  Abana  and 
Pharpar  were  not  better  than  all  the  waters  of  Jordan  ? 
It  is  by  the  banks  of  English  rivers  that  the  natural 
beauties  of  the  midsummer  months  are  seen  in  their 
greatest  perfection.  The  contrast  of  cool  waters  and 
sun-lit  levels  of  meadow  appeals  equally  to  the  sense 
of  sight  and  the  enjoyment  of  coolness,  tranquillity,  and 
repose.  The  Upper  Thames,  and  its  tributaries,  the 
two  Colres,  the  Loddon,  the  Cherwell,  the  Windrush, 
and  the  Evenlode,  are  the  natural  summer  haunt  of 
those  who  can  choose  their  locality  to  suit  the  months. 
To  appreciate  the  beauties  of  the  water-garden  you 
must  be  on  the  water  itself,  and  row  among  the  lilies, 
and  in  front  of  the  flower-set  banks.  The  growths  in 
the  two  have  this  contrast.  All  the  plants  of  the  bank 
are  tall  and  upright ;  all  those  of  the  stream,  except 
the  arrowhead,  are  level  and  flat.  Thus  the  purple 
and  yellow  loose-strife,  the  yellow  iris,  burr-reeds,  the 


Kingfisher.     From  a  Japanese    Woodcut. 


THE  ISIS  IN  JUNE  223 

St.  John's  wort,  the  bulrushes,  and,  above  all,  the 
pink  flowering-rush,  are  set  like  sentinels  to  watch  the 
stream,  in  which  the  lilies,  water-plantain,  and  villarsia 
float  and  blossom,  supported  by  the  density  of  the 
water  itself,  which  takes  the  place  of  the  upright  stalk, 
and  leaves  them  free  to  spread  themselves  in  ever- 
increasing  areas  of  natural  growth.  Most  of  the  upright 
water  plants  may  be  made  to  live  and  blossom  indoors. 
If  the  yellow  Iris  or  the  flowering  rush  be  pulled 
up  by  the  roots  from  the  river  bank  or  the  mud, 
and  planted  in  a  bucket,  with  plenty  of  river  soil 
round  them,  they  will  flower  even  more  gaily  than 
when  in  the  stream.  Even  the  lily  buds  will  open 
and  last  in  perfection  for  days,  if  they  be  set  in  the  suny 
and  the  water  be  not  allowed  to  drown  the  petals. 


224 


WILD-FOWL   IN   SANCTUARY 

(BLENHEIM  LAKE) 

JUST  before  the  opening  of  spring,  when  the  biting 
winds  drive  the  shepherds  down  from  the  hill,  and  send 
even  the  gipsies  to  the  shelter  of  the  towns,  wild  birds 
and  beasts  seem  almost  to  vanish  from  the  open  country, 
except  the  March  hares — and  they,  we  know,  are  mad. 

Yet  there  is  no  time  at  which  the  rare  and  beautiful 
water-birds,  now  so  scarce  in  England,  are  more  tame 
or  more  easily  observed  than  when  they  seek  sanctuary 
for  rest  and  pairing,  before  their  long  journey  to  their 
breeding-places  in  the  high  latitudes  of  the  North. 
The  scene  on  the  few  inland  lakes  and  waters  of  any 
size  in  the  south  of  England,  where  the  fowl  are 
unmolested,  is  at  such  times  full  of  interest  even  to  the 
least  observant  eyes,  though  a  few  weeks  later  the 
surface  will  be  deserted  by  all  but  the  nesting  swans, 
and  the  few  coots,  dobchicks,  and  water-hens  which 
remain  throughout  the  summer.  The  lake  at  Blen- 
heim, always  beautiful  from  its  setting  and  surround- 
ings, gives  a  pleasing  picture  of  the  Lenten  rest  and 
quiet  which  the  wild-fowl  then  enjoy.  This  lake, 


WILD-FOWL  IN  SANCTUARY  225 

formed  by  the  waters  of  the  Gleam — all  the  tributaries 
of  the  upper  Thames,  the  Colne,  the  Windrush,  and 
the  Evenlode,  have  harmonious  names — winds  for  some 
two  miles  between  low  but  steep  hills,  and  naturally 
attracts  to  its  quiet  surface  most  of  the  wild-fowl  of  the 
Oxford  vale.  At  my  first  visit  to  the  lake  at  the  end 
of  March,  it  was  evident  that  their  numbers  were  as  yet 
hardly  diminished  by  departures  for  the  North.  Much 
of  the  surface  was  still  covered  by  ice  and  snow,  and  just 
off  the  edge  of  the  ice  some  twenty  swans  were  feeding  ; 
while  from  all  parts  of  the  open  water  were  heard  the 
constant  musical  whistle  of  widgeon  and  teal,  the 
quacking  of  the  mallards,  the  hoarse  snort  of  the  swans, 
and  the  croak  of  coots  and  moorhens, — sounds  more 
suggestive  of  Poole  Harbour  on  an  August  night,  than 
of  a  Midland  lake  in  March.  On  the  further  bank, 
sunning  themselves  on  the  sloping  turf,  and  sheltered 
from  the  wind,  were  a  score  of  mallards  and  their 
mates,  which  rose  with  much  angry  quacking  and  pro- 
test as  a  herd  of  deer  came  trotting  down  to  drink  at 
the  very  spot  which  they  had  chosen  for  their  chilly 
siesta.  It  was,  however,  no  wanton  intrusion  by  the 
deer,  for  at  that  spot  only  was  the  shore  free  from  ice, 
where  some  land-spring  broke  the  frozen  boundary. 
Meantime,  the  sun  came  out  with  a  warmth  which 
could  be  felt,  and  a  second  flock  of  wild  ducks  broke 
into  sudden  ecstasy  at  such  an  earnest  of  the  coming 
spring.  Beating  its  wings  upon  the  water,  each  mallard 
rushed  across  the  lake  ;  then  diving,  they  reappeared 
beside  their  mates,  and  went  through  a  kind  of  water- 

Q 


226  IN  THE  ISIS    VALLEY 

tournament,  with  much  splashing  and  noise.  In  the 
course  of  this  amusement,  one  of  the  performers  came 
up  from  the  depths  almost  under  an  old  cock-swan, 
which  was  sleeping  with  its  head  "  under  the  blankets  " 
— that  is  to  say,  its  wing-coverts — and  resented  the 
disturbance  by  a  vicious  bite  which  called  the  whole 
company  to  order.  Most  inland  lakes,  except  those 
Surrey  pools  where  the  water  seems  to  be  held  naturally 
upon  an  ironstone  bottom,  are  river-fed,  and  shallow 
and  sedgy  at  the  head  where  the  stream  enters.  Blen- 
heim Lake  is  no  exception  to  this  rule,  and  some  acres 
at  its  upper  end  are  covered  by  yellow  reeds,  through 
which  the  Gleam  cuts  a  winding  channel  of  deep-green 
water.  This  is  natural  cover  for  the  fowl,  and,  though 
frost  and  snow  had  beaten  down  the  sedge,  it  was  alive 
with  coots  and  snipe  and  moor-hens.  There,  from 
behind  a  tree,  we  watched  for  some  time  a  snipe  court- 
ing, at  least  so  we  judged,  for  the  object  of  its  atten- 
tions was  concealed  in  a  little  tuft  of  sedge.  The  snipe 
ran  round  this  bower  setting  up  its  wings,  and  flirting 
its  tail  in  very  gallant  fashion,  turning  round  and 
bowing  with  all  the  airs  and  graces  of  a  pigeon  making 
love.  At  the  extreme  head  of  the  lake,  in  the  swift, 
narrow  current  of  the  Gleam,  a  fleet  of  swans  were 
feeding,  one  behind  the  other,  an  old  cock-swan  taking 
the  post  of  danger — and  of  profit — next  to  the  conduit 
from  which  the  water  enters.  By  hiding  behind  the 
bridge-parapet  for  some  time,  and  then  carefully 
peering  over,  it  was  possible  to  observe  exactly 
the  way  in  which  a  swan  feeds  in  water  just  deep 


WILD-FOWL  IN  SANCTUARY  227 

enough  to  make  it  necessary  for  it  to  invert  its  body 
in  order  to  reach  the  bottom.  The  neck  was  partly 
bent,  and  the  crown  of  the  head  touched  the  bottom, 
its  head  and  neck  being  used  exactly  like  a  bent- 
handled  hoe  to  search  among  the  gravel  and  stones. 
Its  head  was  deeply  tinged  with  red,  from  the  iron  in 
solution  in  the  water  and  mud.  The  result  of  stillness 
and  partial  concealment  in  watching  wild  animals  was 
well  illustrated  during  the  ten  minutes  spent  in  observ- 
ing the  swan.  Water-hens  seemed  to  spring  from  the 
flattened  sedge  by  magic,  as  if  rising  from  the  ground, 
and  launched  themselves  on  the  stream,  or  tripped 
about  feeding  among  the  sedges,  where  the  ground  was 
rapidly  thawing. 

The  head  and  western  bank  of  the  lake  are  fringed 
with  a  narrow  belt  of  young  plantation,  made  partly 
with  a  view  to  sheltering  the  wild-fowl,  partly  to 
screen  the  guns  when  the  birds  are  shot  in  the  winter. 
The  lake-keeper,  whose  cottage  stands  at  the  head  of 
the  water,  quoted  as  an  example  of  the  number  of  fowl 
that  collect  in  severe  weather  at  Blenheim,  that  on  one 
occasion  three  guns  shot  a  hundred  and  twelve  snipe, 
and  between  forty  and  fifty  wild  duck  and  teal.  But 
the  birds  are  seldom  shot,  and  at  the  time  of  our  visit 
seemed  quite  aware  that  no  harm  was  intended  ;  and  as 
we  passed  close  to  the  water  on  the  opposite  side  to 
that  from  which  we  had  approached,  partly  screened  by 
the  belt  of  young  trees,  they  showed  little  inclination 
to  leave  the  water,  with  the  exception  of  a  solitary 
heron,  which,  after  watching  us  uneasily  for  some  time, 


228  IN  THE  ISIS    VALLEY 

rose  with  a  croak,  and  after  flapping  some  way,  with 
its  dangling  toes  touching  the  ice,  rose  high  into 
the  air,  and  flew  steadily  in  the  direction  of  Wytham 
Woods,  where  the  hen-birds  were  already  sitting  on 
their  eggs. 

Viewed  from  the  western  shore,  the  scene  was  in  bright 
contrast  to  the  prevailing  steely  monotony  of  an  Eng- 
lish landscape  in  March.  The  tops  of  the  overgrown 
osiers  which  fringed  the  lake  wore  the  polished  scarlet 
bark  of  early  spring,  and  shot  up  in  a  stiff  line  of  red 
rods.  Beyond  them  lay  the  surface  of  the  lake,  under 
the  sun,  in  three  zones  of  colour,  following  the  sweep- 
ing bays  and  curves  of  the  ice.  Next  to  the  shore, 
the  ice  was  dazzling  white  with  snow,  which  had 
melted  on  the  earth,  but  still  lay  deep  on  the  thickest 
ice  ;  and  against  this  white  background  stood  up  the 
thousands  of  scarlet  osier  rods.  Next  to  the  snow  was 
a  zone  of  clear  ice,  blue-grey  and  snowless  ;  and  beyond 
the  margin  of  the  ice-fringe  lay  the  deeper  waters  of 
the  lake,  of  the  deep  translucent  green  of  jade,  on  which 
some  fifty  shining  swans  were  floating  in  every  attitude 
of  motion  or  repose.  Beyond,  on  the  hill,  the  long 
colonnades  and  shining  cupolas  of  Blenheim  stood 
solemn  and  severe,  like  some  "Palace  of  Silence," 
against  the  sky. 

A  great  number  of  duck  and  teal,  and  a  flock  of 
widgeon,  were  floating  near  an  evergreen-covered 
island,  in  separate  groups  ;  and  a  score  of  coots,  con- 
spicuous by  their  white  heads  and  velvety  black  bodies, 
were  feeding  near  the  shore.  At  the  sound  of  a  stick 


WILD-FOWL  IN  SANCTUARY  229 

struck  upon  a  paling,  all  but  the  coots  rose  from  the 
water,  the  mallards  showing  to  the  greatest  advantage 
as  they  spread  the  fanlike  white  feathers  below  the 
dark-green  tail,  and  mounted  high  above  the  lake. 
The  widgeon  kept  in  a  compact  flock,  turning  and 
wheeling  like  starlings,  and  passing  and  repassing  in  a 
symmetrical  and  monotonous  course  through  exactly 
the  same  evolutions  in  the  air  to  an  accompaniment  of 
melodious  notes.  The  teal  soon  settled  down  in  pairs, 
some  dashing  boldly  into  the  water,  others  alighting 
with  rapid  backward  beats  of  the  wing  upon  the  ice. 
A  careful  stalk  brought  us  near  enough  to  see  that  the 
teal,  like  most  of  the  ducks,  had  evidently  paired  for 
the  summer,  as  the  cock-birds  were  swimming  round 
their  mates  in  a  restless,  fussy  fashion,  and  did  not 
allow  any  other  bird  to  come  within  the  circle  of  water 
so  appropriated.  The  view  of  the  lower  lake  which  we 
caught  through  the  wide  and  beautiful  arch  of  the 
stone  bridge,  showed  that  the  fowl  were  there  even 
more  numerous  than  on  the  upper  waters.  From  the 
parapet  of  the  bridge  we  counted  seventy-four  duck 
sleeping  on  the  edge  of  the  ice.  Under  and  upon  the 
steep  and  sloping  bank  near  Rosamond's  Well,  quite 
three  times  that  number  were  crowded  together,  and  as 
a  sudden  snow-squall  came  over  the  hill,  they  all  rose 
with  a  loud  roar  of  wings,  and,  joined  by  the  flock 
from  the  ice,  settled  on  the  open  water,  preferring, 
apparently,  to  endure  the  squall  on  their  native  element 
than  on  the  ice  or  firm  land.  No  doubt  the  numbers 
of  wild-fowl  on  the  tidal  harbours  of  the  coast  in 


230  IN  THE   ISIS    VALLEY 

winter  are  many  times  greater  than  those  collected  at 
Blenheim  and  on  similar  lakes  in  March.  But  such 
opportunities  for  watching  them  in  their  happiest 
moods  cannot  be  obtained  by  the  sea,  or  anywhere 
except  in  places  where  man  combines  with  Nature  to 
protect  them  in  the  season  of  sanctuary. 


IN    HIGH    SUFFOLK 


SUNDOWN  IN  SHOTLEY  WOOD 

SHOTLEY  WOOD  is  marked  on  the  county  map. 
Sometimes,  though  rarely,  when  there  was  enough 
spare  money  in  the  county  to  keep  a  three-days-a-week 
pack,  it  figured  among  the  less  popular  meets  of  the 
season.  Now  it  is  forgotten  by  the  world,  even  the 
world  of  county  sport.  Yet  it  has  stood — or  rather 
it  has  been  felled  and  risen  again — since  the  days 
of  King  John.  From  the  time  of  Magna  Charta  till 
the  present  day,  no  plough  or  harrow  has  cut  the 
virgin  soil  within  its  fences  ;  and  every  decent  piece 
of  building  in  the  parish,  from  the  church  roof — set 
on  in  the  year  of  grace  1507 — to  the  newest  barn  floor, 
has  been  fitted  with  the  timber  grown  on  its  seventy 
acres  of  deep  yellow  clay.  "Us  be  all  despret  poor 
now,"  as  the  exciseman  (the  only  rich  man  in  the 
parish)  truly  says  ;  and  those  who  had  sense  to  read 
the  signs  of  the  times  have  made  treaty  with  necessity, 
and  stepped  back,  with  a  rough  and  rugged  insistance 
on  the  change,  to  the  plain  living  of  Saxon  times. 


23  2  IN  HIGH  SUFFOLK 

Are  our  tables  worse  furnished,  or  is  our  roof-tree 
colder  ?  I  think  not.  We  kill  our  own  swine,  brew 
our  own  ale,  and  press  our  cider  ;  bake  our  dark  but 
palatable  bread,  and  pay  our  men  and  our  dwindling 
"  tradesmen's  bills  "  from  the  narrow  yield  of  our  own 
fields.  The  owner  of  the  "  big  wood  "  finds  it  a  little 
silver-mine.  Frugality  begins  at  home — a  coy  but 
lasting  friend — and  when  once  won  is  never  lost  by  the 
countryman  who  lives  on  his  own  acres.  The  coal- 
grates  have  been  pulled  out  in  hall  and  dining-room, 
and  the  old  bars  rescued  from  rust  in  the  out-house 
are  piled  with  the  surplus  branches  of  the  oaks  ;  and 
on  Christmas-day  the  green  ashen  faggot  will  blaze 
and  sputter  with  a  lively  warmth  that  mocks  the  dull 
caloric  of  the  coal,  as  young  laughter  leaps  above  the 
book-bound  wit  of  ages.  The  wood  supplies  our  table 
with  its  daintiest  fare.  Never  was  there  such  a  year 
for  wild-bred  pheasants  ;  and  the  stub-rabbits  are  no 
longer  despised.  In  December  the  wood-pigeons  come 
in  to  roost  in  large  flocks,  and  pay  a  daily  tribute  to 
the  gun.  The  poor  still  look  for  rabbits  at  Christmas, 
and  on  our  way  to  the  wood  before  dusk,  to  lie  in 
wait  for  the  pigeons,  we  overhear  the  rabbiter  and  the 
bailiff  in  consultation  :  the  former  deep  in  the  yawning 
ditch,  under  the  stubbs,  the  other  with  his  ear  to  the 
bolt-hole  in  the  field  above.  The  rabbiter  is  calm  and 
professional,  as  becomes  one  finishing  a  long  day's 
work.  The  bailiff — a  school-boy  friend  of  the  poorer 
man,  long  since  risen  in  the  social  scale,  a  stern  and 
unbending  Noncomformist,  but  with  a  suppressed  but 


SUNDOWN  IN  SHOTLEY  WOOD  233 

uncontrollable  love  of  sport — is  as  excited  as  a  boy. 
They  have  dropped  the  ceremonious  "  Mister  "  of  East 
Anglian  address,  and  for  the  moment  have  forgotten 
that  the  world  contains  anything  but  themselves,  the 
hapless  rabbit  in  the  bury,  and  the  ferret  at  the  end  of 
the  line.  "  Eddard,"  says  the  bailiff ;  "  Eddard,  I  can 
hear  it  a-scrabbin'  !  "  "  Can  you  ? "  replies  the  rabbiter. 
"  Do  you  cop  me  your  '  dabber.'  '  The  "  dabber,"  an 
implement  with  a  spade  at  one  end  and  a  spike  at  the 
other,  is  "  copped  "  and  dexterously  caught.  "  Do  you 
fudge  him  a  bit,"  urges  the  rabbiter  ;  and  the  bailiff 
"  fudges  "  vigorously.  Then  the  ferret  is  withdrawn. 
"  Lor'  bless  me,  if  I  hain't  been  a-fudging  the  ferret  ! " 
he  exclaims  ;  and  the  ill-used  and  gasping  ferret  is 
exhibited.  "  Oh,  ah  !  "  says  the  rabbiter,  "  we'd  best 
go  back,  I  reckon."  And  the  pair  wind  up  nets  and 
bags,  and  splash  home  through  the  mud.  They  are 
almost  the  last  to  leave  the  open  fields,  and  as  we  enter 
the  high  wood  the  sounds  of  daily  human  labour  die 
with  the  waning  light — when  the  plough-teams,  with 
looped-up  splinter-bars  banging  against  the  trace-chains, 
plod  homewards  to  the  stables.  The  grey  light  wanes 
and  the  wind  rises,  angry  and  sighing  in  the  tree-tops. 
A  wide  avenue  of  Scotch  firs  runs  down  the  length  of 
the  wood.  The  ride  is  still  strewn  thick  with  acorns, 
for  this  has  been  the  most  prolific  year  ever  known  for 
the  seeds  of  trees  ;  the  husks  are  already  splitting  here 
and  there,  and  the  red  shoots  are  sprouting  from  the 
pointed  end  ;  but  many  are  mere  crackling  shells 
nibbled  by  squirrels  and  mice.  The  wood-pigeons 


234  IN  HIGH  SUFFOLK 

have  been  feasting  for  weeks,  pheasants  have  helped 
them,  sacksfull  have  been  carried  home  by  the  wood- 
man to  grind  and  mix  with  bran  for  the  sheep,  and 
pigs  have  forced  their  way  through  the  fences  to  munch 
their  fill,  yet  the  quantity  on  the  ground  seems  now  as 
great  as  ever.  In  the  ride  we  met  a  hedgehog,  almost 
the  last  creature  to  be  expected  on  such  a  chilly  day. 
Generally  piggy  spends  the  winter  coiled  up  in  a  bed  of 
leaves  in  a  rabbit-burrow,  under  a  root,  or  in  the 
centre  of  a  thick  bush,  and  sleeps  till  spring  comes. 
Perhaps  this  hedgehog  had  been  idle  in  the  summer, 
and  not  laid  up  a  store  of  fat  to  last  him  through  the 
winter  ;  so  he  was  awake,  and  obliged  to  forage.  He 
was  hunting  eagerly,  taking  half  the  width  of  the  ride, 
and  quartering  it  to  and  fro — not  very  accurately,  for 
he  did  not  keep  straight  lines,  like  a  setter,  but  still 
rarely  going  twice  over  the  same  ground.  We  ap- 
proached slowly,  for  if  a  hedgehog  is  not  disturbed 
by  a  heavy  footfall  or  sudden  movement,  it  simply 
disregards  men.  To  and  fro  he  went,  poking  his  long 
snout  into  every  hoof-mark,  and  routing  among  the 
oak-leaves.  He  seemed  to  find  little,  and  to  be  very 
hungry.  Once  or  twice  he  put  up  his  head  and  sniffed, 
and  stared  at  the  figure  above  him  ;  but  as  it  did  not 
move,  he  went  on  searching  for  a  supper.  As  he 
passed,  we  touched  him  a  tergo  with  the  gun-barrel. 
He  whisked  round  with  prickles  up,  looking  angry  and 
quite  at  a  loss  to  understand  what  had  happened.  He 
then  examined  the  boots  and  tried  to  climb  the  leg 
above,  but  could  not  get  a  foothold  for  his  hind-feet. 


SUNDOWN  IN  SHOTLEY   WOOD  235 

Down  again  to  the  boots.  The  blacking  smelt  nice,  so 
he  gnawed  at  them  steadily,  with  far  more  force  than 
might  be  expected  from  so  small  a  hedgehog — for  he 
was  not  larger  than  a  cocoa-nut.  Having  tasted  one 
boot,  he  then  tried  the  other,  and  did  not  take  alarm 
till  he  was  suddenly  picked  up.  Then  for  a  minute  he 
closed  his  eyes  and  rolled  into  a  ball.  A  curious 
change  of  expression  takes  place  when  the  hedgehog 
draws  his  heavy  eyebrows  down.  At  other  times  his 
face  is  impudent  and  rather  savage.  Then  he  looks 
meek  and  gentle,  a  nice  little  fellow,  who  eats  bread 
and  milk,  and  is  regarded  as  a  pet  for  children. 
Unrolled  he  is  his  true  self — a  creature  that  kills 
adders,  drives  the  partridge  from  her  nest,  and  eats  the 
eggs  ;  a  sturdy  omnivorous  little  animal,  afraid  of  few 
things  except  a  badger.  He  had  not  been  held  a 
minute  before  he  began  to  uncurl,  wriggled  over  on 
to  his  back,  gave  the  nearest  finger  a  bite  which  reached 
through  the  buckskin  glove,  dropped  on  to  the  ride, 
and  scuffled  away  among  the  brambles.  By  this  time 
it  was  almost  dusk,  and  the  pigeons  were  arriving  in 
small  flocks,  and  settling  into  the  fir-tops  in  different 
parts  of  the  wood.  Each  flock  circled  high  overhead 
twice  or  thrice  before  alighting.  The  fieldfares  followed, 
squeaking  and  chattering  from  tree  to  tree,  and  the 
cock  pheasants  went  up  to  roost  one  by  one,  telling 
the  whole  wood  about  it.  Small  woodland  birds  feed 
till  dark  in  these  short  winter  days,  and  a  whole  flock 
of  tits  and  bullfinches  were  climbing  and  flitting  among 
the  ash-poles,  eager  to  use  the  last  minutes  of  twilight. 


236  IN  HIGH  SUFFOLK 

A  pair  of  sparrow-hawks  were  anxious  to  make  their 
supper  on  the  tits,  and  their  silent  gliding  forms  crossed 
and  recrossed  among  the  stems  from  minute  to  minute, 
winding  among  the  closely  growing  ash-poles  with 
astonishing  powers  of  steering  in  full  flight.  So  quick 
were  their  movements,  and  so  close  to  the  stems,  that 
though  the  bold  birds  took  no  alarm  at  the  motionless 
human  figure,  it  was  almost  impossible  to  fire  a  shot 
at  these  worst  poachers  of  the  woods,  with  any  certainty 
of  killing.  They  had  carried  off  more  than  one  of  the 
tits  when  a  third  hawk  swept  over  the  wood,  seized 
a  small  bird  in  its  claws,  and  sailed  off  up  the  ride.  A 
shot  and  a  red  shower  of  sparks  was  followed  by  the 
fall  of  the  hawk,  and  the  clatter  of  a  hundred  pairs  of 
wings  as  the  pigeons  left  the  trees.  The  hawk  was 
dead,  with  the  finch  still  in  its  claws,  apparently  unhurt. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  wood  is  quiet  again,  and  the 
pigeons  return,  and  during  the  last  few  minutes  before 
dark  pay  heavy  toll  to  the  gun,  as  they  fly  low  and 
sleepy  and  bewildered  over  the  pine-tops.  There  is 
hardly  a  better  bird  for  the  table  outside  the  true  game 
birds,  than  these  plump  Christmas  wood-pigeons  after 
months  of  plenty  and  open  weather.  Even  when  the 
lingering  twilight  has  almost  gone,  and  the  bright 
planets  shine  with  eager  eyes  through  the  lacing  oak- 
boughs,  while  "  echo  bids  good-night  from  every 
glade,"  the  wood  is  not  yet  silent.  The  grey  crows 
have  come  from  the  north  to  tell  us  that  it  is  Christmas. 
They  have  crossed  the  North  Sea,  and  skirted  the  shore 
southward  from  estuary  to  estuary,  past  the  mouths  of 


SUNDOWN  IN  SHOTLEY   WOOD  237 

the  fen  rivers  and  the  marshes  of  the  broads,  and 
arrived,  as  they  always  do,  in  the  last  week  of  the 
old  year,  to  croak  their  warning  tale  into  the  winter 
night. 

"  I  sent  forth  memory  in  heedful  guise, 

To  search  the  record  of  preceding  years ; 
Back  like  the  raven  to  the  ark  she  flies, 
And  croaks  disaster  to  my  trembling  ears," 

the  poet  writes.  The  cry  of  the  grey  crows,  like  the 
voice  of  the  raven,  has  an  evil  sound.  But  they  have 
croaked  in  the  wood  at  each  year's  ending,  and  if  the 
next  be  no  worse  than  those  which  have  gone,  we  shall 
not  cease  to  enjoy  the  sounds  of  the  winter  wood  at 
sundown. 


238 


ANCIENT   MEADOWS 

PROBABLY  there  are  no  meadows  in  the  world  so 
good  as  those  in  England,  or  so  old.  They  are 
the  sole  portions  of  the  earth's  surface,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  barren  wastes  and  cliffs,  which  modern 
agriculture  respects  and  leaves  in  peace.  Hence  the 
excellence  of  the  English  pastures,  and  the  envy  of  the 
Continent.  When  I  look  at  one  of  these  fat  and 
smiling  meads,  the  pride  and  stay  of  the  farm  in  which 
it  lies,  I  like  to  think  that  it  and  its  like  are  probably 
survivals  of  old  England's  surface  remaining  unchanged 
since  the  days  of  Canute  and  Edward  the  Confessor, 
with  a  fixity  of  type  as  enduring  as  that  of  the  wildest 
parts  of  the  New  Forest  or  of  the  great  park  at 
Windsor. 

From  the  early  Saxon  times,  old  meadow  has  been 
distinguished  from  mere  grazing-ground,  and  has 
always  been  scarce.  Two-thirds  of  what  is  now  estab- 
lished meadow-land  still  shows  the  marks  of  ridge  and 
furrow  ;  and  from  the  length  of  time  needed  to  make 
a  meadow — ten  years  on  the  best  land,  a  hundred  on 


ANCIENT  MEADOWS  239 

the  worst — men  have  always  been  reluctant  to  break 
up  old  pasture.  Ancient  customs  survive  even  in  the 
tenure  of  these  sacred  spots  of  earth.  "  Joint  holdings  " 
exist  in  meadow-land  long  after  they  have  disappeared 
in  connection  with  the  cultivated  portions.  The  Thames 
valley  is  still  full  of  such  joint  tenancies.  In  the  Stour 
valley,  with  Essex  on  one  side  and  Suffolk  on  the  other, 
are  numbers  of  "  common  meadows  "  in  which  several 
men  own  portions,  which  they  agree  to  feed  or  mow,  as 
they  may  decide,  every  year.  At  Bampton,  in  Oxford- 
shire, the  sections  of  the  "  common  meadow "  are 
annually  redistributed  by  lots  among  sixteen  owners. 

The  flat  meadows  by  the  sides  of  rivers,  level  as  a 
table,  are  so  exactly  alike  in  one  particular,  their 
absolute  conformity  to  the  level  line,  that  an  explanation 
of  their  history  seems  demanded  by  their  shape.  The 
story  is  simple  enough  as  geologists  read  it.  All  the 
flat  meadows  have  been  made  by  floods,  which,  as  they 
retired,  left  a  uniform  deposit  of  mud.  This  went  on 
till  the  level  rose  even  with  the  highest  flood-mark, 
and  as  rivers  tend  to  wear  their  own  channels  deeper 
the  flat  meadows  were  left.  These,  however,  are  in 
many  cases  only  in  course  of  being  made — they  are  not 
always  the  sweetest  or  most  ancient  pasture,  like  that 
on  the  good  warm  marl  and  loam  round  the  inland 
farms. 

u  St.  Barnabas  mow  the  grass "  is  an  old  country 
saying.  But  although  St.  Barnabas'  day  falls  when 
the  meadows  are  generally  ripe  for  mowing,  there  is 
no  crop  so  "  tickle,"  as  the  Yorkshire  farmers  say,  as 


24o  IN  HIGH  SUFFOLK 

to  the  time  at  which  it  must  be  cut.  Hay  must  fall 
when  the  grasses  are  in  flower.  Walk  into  a  hay-field, 
in  the  second  week  in  June,  and  you  will  see  the  pollen 
dropping  from  the  fescue  and  timothy,  and  the  yellow 
from  the  buttercups  lodges  on  your  boots.  Then  the 
beauty  of  a  good  meadow  can  be  seen  and  understood. 
The  trefoil  and  yellow  suckling  are  ankle  deep,  and  a 
little  above  rises  the  perennial  red  clover — the  white 
being  not  yet  in  full  bloom.  The  true  grasses  reach 
to  the  knee,  the  growth  becoming  less  dense  as  it  rises 
higher,  and  the  crowning  glory  of  beauty  is  the  wide, 
ox-eyed  daisies — more  dear,  however,  to  the  artist  than 
the  farmer.  Dotted  among  the  grasses  are  carmine 
meadow  vetchling,  and  a  dozen  other  small  leguminoste, 
golden  weasel-snout,  buttercups,  and  wild  blue  gera- 
nium. In  a  picture  of  Albrecht  Diirer's,  which  we  once 
saw,  the  artist  had  evidently  painted  the  section  of  a 
hayfield.  One  seemed  to  be  lying  on  the  cut  grass, 
and  looking  at  the  wall  left  after  the  last  sweep  of  the 
scythe.  Every  flower,  every  stalk  of  grass  was  painted, 
the  white  daisies  filling  the  top  of  the  canvas.  Not 
only  sight  but  scent  is  needed  to  judge  the  maturity  of 
the  crop.  In  a  walk  through  the  "  mowing  grass,"  to 
determine  the  condition  of  the  blossom,  the  fragrance 
of  the  odours  from  the  almost  invisible  flowers  of  the 
grasses,  and  of  the  tiny  clovers,  crowfoot,  and  trefoil, 
that  "  blush  unseen "  in  the  thick  growth  at  the 
bottom,  is  almost  stupefying,  and  is  certain,  in  some 
cases,  to  bring  on  a  violent  attack  of  hay-fever  at  night. 
If  the  flower  is  out,  then  the  hay  must  be  cut,  no 


ANCIENT  MEADOWS  241 

matter  how  threatening  the  weather,  and  no  crop  lies 
so  completely  at  the  mercy  of  the  skies  as  does  the  hay. 
If  the  crop  be  short,  it  cannot  therefore  be  left  to 
grow.  The  grass  must  fall  while  the  blossom  is  upon 
it,  or  the  cattle  will  refuse  it.  "  Better  let  it  spoil  on 
the  ground  than  spoil  as  it  grows,"  is  a  country  maxim. 
For  the  latter  is  a  certain  loss,  and  a  day's  bright  sun 
and  wind  may  always  dry  a  fallen  crop. 

How  and  when  men  first  learned  to  make  hay  will 
probably  never  be  known.  For  hay-making  is  a 
process,  and  the  product  is  not  merely  sun-dried  grass, 
but  grass  which  has  partly  fermented,  and  is  as  much 
the  work  of  men's  hands  as  flour  or  cider.  Probably 
its  discovery  was  due  to  accident,  unless  men  learnt  it 
from  the  pikas  or  calling  hares  of  the  Eastern  steppes, 
which  cut  and  stack  hay  for  the  winter.  That  idea 
would  fit  in  nicely  with  the  theory  that  Central  Asia 
was  the  home  of  the  "  Aryan  "  race,  if  we  were  allowed 
to  believe  it,  and  hay-making  is  certainly  an  art 
mainly  practised  in  cold  countries  for  winter  forage. 

But  the  old  meadows  only  supply  a  part,  though 
probably  the  most  valuable  part,  of  the  yearly  crop  of 
hay.  The  change  from  arable  to  pasture,  which  has 
marked  the  last  twenty  years  of  English  farming,  has 
covered  what  were  once  cornfields  with  sown  grasses 
or  "  leys."  No  one  travelling  by  rail  over  any  of  the 
high  plateaux  of  the  south  of  England,  such  as  the 
Berkshire  downs  or  Salisbury  Plain,  can  fail  to  notice 
the  hundreds  of  acres  of  waving  "  rye-grass,"  which  has 

taken  the  place  of  fallows  and  turnip-fields.     On  the 

R 


242  IN  HIGH  SUFFOLK 

chalk  land  the  lovely  sainfoin  spreads  its  crimson  flowers 
•over  an  ever-growing  area  ;  for  sainfoin  hay  is  the  best 
of  all  food  for  producing  milk,  and  is  saved  for  the 
ewes  in  lambing  time,  and  for  the  dairy  cows.  Seven 
years  is  the  life  allotted  to  a  sainfoin  "  ley/'  after  which 
it  is  ploughed  up  and  used  for  other  crops.  Hardly 
any  sown  pasture  is  so  beautiful  or  so  profitable  as 
this  on  soil  which  suits  its  growth.  It  gives  two  crops 
in  the  year,  and  the  hay  can  often  be  sold  for  £6  or 
£j  an  acre.  The  broad-leaved  clover  grows  on  most 
soils,  and  though  it  stands  for  two  years,  is  generally 
ploughed  in  after  the  first  year's  cutting.  For  agri- 
cultural chemists  have  discovered  that  the  delicate 
clover  leaves  gather  in  nitrates  from  the  air,  and  so, 
when  ploughed  into  the  ground,  give  food  to  the 
young  wheat-plant.  "  Field-hay,"  as  the  produce  of 
the  rye-grass,  sainfoin,  clover,  and  trefoil  is  called,  is 
a  new  feature  in  the  country.  Its  beauty  is  less  refined, 
bright  though  the  masses  look  in  early  June  ;  and  the 
pleasure  it  gives  is  less.  It  is  part  of  modern  husbandry, 
and  lacks  the  poetry  of  the  old. 

Half  the  beauty  of  the  "haysel"  has  been  lost  since 
the  mowing-machine  was  invented,  and  the  other 
time-saving  appliances  of  modern  farming.  For  the 
most  picturesque  sight  in  the  cycle  of  rural  toil  was 
to  watch  the  mowers.  But  the  steady  rushing  of  the 
steel  through  the  falling  grass,  the  rhythmic  move- 
ment of  the  mowers,  as  they  advanced  en  echelon,  right 
foot  foremost,  down  the  meadow,  and  the  ring  of  the 
whetstones  on  the  scythes,  have  almost  given  place  to 


ANCIENT  MEADOWS  243 

the  rattling  machine.  Yet  there  is  more  pleasure  in 
"haysel"  than  "joy  in  harvest."  The  weather  is  not 
so  hot,  and  the  grass  does  not  attract  the  sun  as  does 
the  stubble.  Every  one  is  ready  to  lend  a  hand. 
There  is  the  sweet  scent  of  the  flowers  when  fresh,  and 
of  the  grass  as  it  dries.  The  big  horses  munch  happily 
while  the  workmen  rest  for  their  "elevenses"  and 
"  fourses,"  and  eat  their  white  currant-loaves  and  drink 
their  cider.  The  wives  help  to  rake  the  swathes 
together  for  the  men,  and  the  children  roll  about  and 
bury  themselves  in  the  haycocks.  If  the  weather  is 
very  catchy,  the  farmer  is  sometimes  thoughtful  ; 
but  the  stake  is  not  so  great  as  at  harvest-time,  and 
the  anxiety  proportionately  less. 

The  cutting  of  the  grass  leads  to  a  sad  disturbance 
of  the  wild  creatures  which  the  meadow  shelters 
under  its  tall  crop.  As  the  machine  or  the  mowers 
make  the  circuit  of  the  outer  edges,  the  nests  of 
landrails,  larks,  partridges,  and  pipits,  are  uncovered  ; 
and  even  missing  bantam-hens  and  guinea-fowls  from 
the  farm  may  often  be  found  sitting  on  a  stolen 
nest  in  the  hayfield.  The  shining  blades  of  the 
machine  cause  cruel  destruction  among  all  these  con- 
fiding creatures,  and  the  close-sitting  partridges  are 
more  often  killed  than  saved.  Doe-rabbits  and  field- 
mice — or  rather  the  "  voles  "  which  are  destroying  the 
Scotch  pastures — have  their  nests  in  the  grass,  and  in 
the  very  centre  of  the  field  an  old  hedgehog  and  her 
young  and  prickly  family  are  found  rolled  up  like 
dumplings,  and  presenting  their  spines  to  the  inquisitive 


244  IN  HIGH  SUFFOLK 

sheep-dog  that  has  discovered  them.  The  ground,  of 
course,  swarms  with  insects  that  have  fallen  from  the 
grass  ;  and  the  whole  surface  of  the  newly-cut  field  is 
one  great  table  of  food  for  birds  and  beasts.  They  do 
not  wait  to  be  invited.  Starlings  and  sparrows  rush 
down  upon  the  grubs  and  spiders,  and  eat  till  they  can 
eat  no  more.  The  rooks  march  over  the  field  in 
black  battalions,  and  gobble  up  every  lark's,  landrail's, 
and  partridge's  egg  uncovered,  pull  to  pieces  the  voles' 
nests,  and  swallow  with  infinite  relish  the  young  and 
helpless  voles.  The  dogs  do  their  best  to  eat  the 
young  hedgehogs,  and  thereby  prick  their  mouths 
sadly ;  and  then  scratch  out  the  young  rabbits  and 
catch  the  moles,  which,  being  stupid  and  subterranean, 
are  npt  aware  that  the  covering  grass  has  gone,  and 
work  too  near  the  surface.  In  the  evening  the  cats 
come  shyly  to  the  field,  and  catch  the  disconsolate  mice 
which  venture  back  to  look  for  their  children.  But 
perhaps  the  most  curious  evidence  of  the  universal 
attractiveness  of  a  hayfield  which  the  writer  has  yet 
seen,  was  the  invasion  of  a  meadow  by  fish  !  A 
summer  flood  had  come  down  the  upper  waters  of  the 
Cherwell,  and  spread  over  the  meadows  near  Kidlington 
Church,  drowning  millions  of  insects  and  small  animals. 
The  water  still  lay  among  the  haycocks,  covering  the 
ground  to  the  depth  of  a  few  inches,  and  of  course 
filling  all  the  ditches  and  deeper  channels.  Up  these 
the  fish  had  come,  leaving  the  muddy  river,  and  had 
spread  themselves  in  shoals  over  the  field  ;  great  chub 
and  carp  and  roach  were  pushing  and  flapping  among 


ANCIENT  MEADOWS  245 

the  haycocks,  their  backs  partly  out  of  the  water,  and 
swallowing  greedily  the  drowned  creatures  which  floated 
in  thousands  on  the  surface  or  lay  dead  at  the  bottom. 
When  frightened,  they  struggled  back  to  the  ditches, 
from  which,  however,  they  soon  returned  to  their  novel 
feeding-ground. 


246 


SHOOTING   RED-LEGS   IN   THE   SNOW 

FRENCH  partridges,  or  "  Red-legs,"  as  they  are  called 
in  Suffolk,  grow  so  cunning  after  the  end  of  October, 
that  on  ground  where  game  is  scarce,  or  driving  not 
practicable,  they  escape  the  gun  entirely  after  the  heavy 
covert  has  disappeared,  and  in  this  case  sportsmen  are 
only  too  pleased  when  a  heavy  fall  of  snow  brings  them 
once  more  within  reach.  A  sudden  snowstorm  dis- 
concerts these  birds  infinitely  more  than  the  grey 
partridges.  Accustomed  as  they  have  been  for  months 
to  run  rather  than  rise  on  the  approach  of  danger,  the 
new  obstacle  to  their  progress  seems  to  baffle  them 
entirely.  Their  usual  cunning  forsakes  them,  and  the 
coveys  remain  huddled  under  the  fences,  or  more 
often  in  the  ditch  itself,  sometimes  all  together,  but 
more  often  in  twos  and  threes,  and  rise  within  easy 
shot  of  the  guns.  Usually  they  do  not  repair  to 
the  fences  until  they  have  made  some  futile  attempts  to 
run  about  the  fields,  and  this  may  perhaps  account  for 
the  fact  that  those  shot  have  often  large  lumps  of 
frozen  snow  hanging  to  their  thighs  and  bellies.  In  a 
few  days  they  get  thin  and  poor  should  there  be  fresh 


SHOOTING  RED-LEGS  IN  THE   SNOW      247 

falls,  but  generally  the  surface  of  the  snow  is  frozen 
hard  enough  on  the  second  morning  for  them  to  run  as 
usual,  and  any  one  who  will  watch  them  may  then  form 
some  notion  of  what  one  of  these  birds  is  capable  of 
doing  on  its  feet. 

There  is  no  need  to  start  very  early  in  the  morning 
after  the  fall ;  it  is  best  to  begin  about  ten  o'clock  or 
half-an-hour  later,  when  the  birds  have  given  up  their 
attempts  to  travel  over  the  snow,  and  will  be  lying  up 
snugly  under  the  hedges.  An  old  setter,  who  will  not 
mind  going  into  a  fence  to  flush  a  bird  if  necessary,  is 
the  best  dog  for  the  work,  or  a  good  hunting  retriever. 
But  not  every  one  keeps  one  of  these  "  dogs  of  all 
work,"  and  an  obedient  spaniel  is  equally  good,  pro- 
vided he  will  keep  close.  If  not,  he  is  apt  to  spoil 
sport  by  running  on  ahead  and  flushing  the  birds, 
which,  according  to  the  habit  I  have  mentioned,  often 
lie  scattered  for  some  distance  along  the  brow  of  the 
ditch. 

It  is  a  pleasant  and  exhilarating  experience  to  step 
out,  well  wrapped  up  and  thickly  shod,  into  the  fleecy 
powder-like  snow,  and  tramp  across  the  fields,  or  rather 
round  them,  while  the  icicles  tinkle  on  the  bramble 
sprays  and  glitter  in  the  pale  winter  sunlight.  Before 
starting,  however,  it  is  well  to  remember  that  shooting 
in  the  snow  is  accompanied  by  certain  chances  of  accident 
which  are  not  so  likely  to  occur  in  ordinary  weather. 
Two  of  the  most  dangerous  are  the  blocking  of  the 
muzzle  by  chance  contact  with  snow,  which  will  burst 
it  as  effectually  as  if  plugged  with  a  wedge  of  iron; 


248  IN  HIGH  SUFFOLK 

and,  secondly,  the  danger  of  slipping  on  ice  which  is 
rendered  invisible  by  the  loose  snow  fallen  upon  it,  and 
so  risking  an  explosion  by  the  gun  flying  out  of  the 
hand.  Both  these  mischances  have  occurred  to  the 
writer,  although  in  the  fall  the  gun  did  not  go  off. 
The  concussion  was,  however,  so  severe  that  a  deep 
dent  was  made  in  one  of  the  barrels.  In  the  former 
instance  the  barrel  burst  about  two  inches  from  the 
muzzle,  the  metal  opening  evenly  down  the  centre.  It 
must  be  remembered  that  hares  as  well  as  "  red-legs  " 
lie  very  close  the  first  day  after  a  heavy  fall.  Often 
they  will  allow  the  snow  to  cover  them  entirely,  and 
not  move  until  almost  trodden  on. 

One  of  the  most  amusing  day's  red-leg  shooting  in 
the  snow  which  the  writer  recollects  was  in  Suffolk,  after 
a  very  heavy  and  sudden  fall,  accompanied  by  a  fierce 
wind  from  the  east.  The  snow  fell  all  one  afternoon 
and  night,  and  next  morning  the  drifts  were  as  high  as 
the  fence  tops  in  some  places  ;  while  all  ditches,  gullies, 
and  drains  were  filled  up  level  and  smooth  like  the  top 
of  an  iced  cake.  The  wind  had  dropped,  and  the  sun 
shone  brightly,  but  the  cold  was  intense,  and  the  sun 
had  not  the  least  effect  in  consolidating  the  dry  and 
powdery  snow.  No  better  weather  could  have  been 
desired  for  forcing  the  birds  to  "  fence,"  but  the  walls 
and  ramparts  of  snow  cast  up  against  the  hedges  made 
it  an  exceedingly  difficult  matter  to  get  from  field  to 
field.  A  couple  of  well-trained  retrieving  Clumber 
spaniels  were  our  aid  on  this  occasion,  and  we  fortified 
ourselves  against  the  cold  by  taking  with  us  a  plentiful 


SHOOTING  RED-LEGS  IN  THE  SNOW      249 

luncheon  of  cold  mutton  chops,  cold  plum  pudding,  and 
two  large  flasks  of  cherry  brandy,  enough  for  my 
brother  and  myself  and  for  the  man  we  took  with  us. 
The  dogs  too  were  not  forgotten. 

The  first  half-mile  along  the  road  was  easy  enough, 
and  we  stepped  out  briskly,  the  dogs  racing  about  and 
rolling  over  each  other,  every  now  and  then  eating 
mouthfuls  of  snow ;  but  the  moment  we  stepped  into 
the  fields  we  realized  that  not  a  little  judgment  would 
be  required  to  make  a  bag.  The  fences  running  from 
east  to  west,  and  therefore  facing  the  sun,  were  the 
likely  places,  but  all  the  cross  hedges  which  ran  at  right 
angles  to  the  direction  of  the  last  night's  gale  were 
piled  high  with  many  feet  of  snow.  Thus  in  many 
places  to  "  double  "  the  fences  properly  was  impossible. 
On  the  other  hand,  we  knew  on  which  side  the  birds 
were  likely  to  lie,  and  the  piles  of  snow  in  the  hedge 
foot  made  it  difficult  for  them  to  slip  through  on  the 
wrong  side. 

Our  first  effort  was  made  along  a  tall  hedge  covered 
with  snow  on  the  windward  side  ;  on  the  leeward  was  a 
tiny  stream,  and  the  water  had  washed  a  little  margin 
clear  of  snow.  The  spaniels  soon  began  to  feather,  and 
a  track  here  and  there  showed  that  birds  had  been  there 
that  morning  ;  then  one  of  the  dogs  paused  a  moment 
on  the  bank,  cocked  his  ears,  and  plunged  into  a  mass 
of  brambles,  tall  grass,  and  teazles,  and  out  of  the 
cascade  of  snow  and  tiny  icicles  a  couple  of  big  "  French- 
men "  bounced,  looking  as  large  as  pheasants.  Both 
birds  flew  across  us,  and  fell.  Three  more  rose  at  the 


250  IN  HIGH  SUFFOLK 

shot,  and,  though  they  were  rather  wild,  a  partridge 
against  the  snow  is  a  clear  mark,  and  a  careful  long 
shot  brought  the  last  bird  down.  He  would  have  been 
a  runner  had  the  snow  allowed,  but,  finding  it  impos- 
sible to  make  any  way,  he  poked  his  head  under  the 
snow,  and  submitted  to  be  caught  by  Rebel,  the  retriev- 
ing Clumber. 

Following  the  little  stream  up  to  the  higher  land,  we 
secured  another  brace  of  red-legs — old  birds,  with  legs 
knotted  like  a  blackthorn  stick.  One  of  these  was  a 
towered  bird,  and  made  a  beautiful  picture  on  the  snow, 
the  coral  legs  and  beak  and  beautiful  shades  of  buff, 
French  grey,  and  chestnut  showing  up  against  the  white 
background.  We  also  flushed  several  coveys  of  grey 
birds  ;  but  these  were  quite  wild,  and  seemed  only  extra 
wary  on  account  of  the  difficulty  of  concealing  them- 
selves. On  the  higher  ground  we  had  some  difficulty 
in  finding  our  birds  ;  but  at  last  we  discovered  a  sunny 
fence,  under  which  four  or  five  coveys  had  collected. 
This  we  were  able  to  double  ;  and  though  they  were 
wilder  than  we  expected,  as  birds  generally  are  when 
collected  in  any  number,  we  had  very  good  fun.  These 
birds  were  all  lying  in  the  ditch,  or  rather  just  below 
the  level  of  the  field,  as  we  could  see  by  the  holes  in 
the  snow  where  they  had  been  sitting.  My  brother 
secured  a  right  and  left,  and  I  two  single  shots,  and  two 
birds  were  marked  down  in  hedges  at  no  great  distance. 
One  of  these  the  spaniels  caught,  he  having  thrust  him- 
self under  brambles  covered  with  snow,  and  so  became 
entrapped.  The  other  bird  rose,  and  was  shot  by  my 


SHOOTING  RED-LEGS  IN  THE  SNOW      251 

brother  through  the  hedge.  The  dogs  could  not  get 
across  to  retrieve  on  account  of  the  piles  of  snow,  so  he 
walked  down  some  way  until  he  came  to  what  seemed  a 
level  crossing,  though  the  absence  of  gateposts  in  the 
opening  in  the  fence  ought  to  have  warned  him.  Step- 
ping boldly  across,  he  at  once  sank  into  the  ditch  up  to 
his  shoulders,  only  his  head  and  arms  appearing  above 
the  snow.  The  dogs  were  dreadfully  upset  at  the 
incident,  one  of  them  howling  with  excitement  and 
sympathy.  Nor  was  it  an  easy  matter  to  get  him  out, 
for  the  brambles  beneath  the  snow  laced  him  in. 
However,  after  taking  his  gun,  I  managed  to  get  a 
hurdle  and  throw  it  on  to  the  snow,  by  means  of  which 
he  extricated  himself,  and  then  got  the  bird.  By  this 
time  we  were  pretty  hungry,  and  were  making  our  way 
to  some  stacks  to  eat  our  luncheon,  when  the  sun, 
which  had  been  shining  brightly,  was  obscured  by  a  fall 
of  the  finest  and  driest  snow.  Then  followed  a  beautiful 
snow  scene.  A  small  whirlwind,  like  those  which  often 
travel  across  the  cornfields  in  harvest  time,  and  twist  up 
straws  and  barley  swathes  to  great  heights  in  the  air, 
swept  round  the  high  plain  on  which  we  were,  and 
wreathed  the  light  snow  into  fantastic  clouds.  Presently 
we  found  ourselves  in  the  centre  of  the  vortex,  and 
stood  surrounded  by  the  eddying  rime,  through  which 
the  sun  dimly  penetrated.  As  we  approached  the 
stacks  we  could  see  that  we  were  not  the  only  creatures 
repairing  to  them  for  warmth  and  shelter.  Hundreds 
of  yellow-hammers,  chaffinches,  and  greenfinches  were 
hopping  and  fluttering  beneath  the  stacks.  The  rooks 


252  IN  HIGH  SUFFOLK 

were  pulling  away  the  thatch,  and  a  covey  of  grey 
partridges  rose  close  by,  and  one  fell  a  long  shot  to 
my  brother's  gun. 

The  bag,  eleven  red-legs  and  one  grey  bird,  were 
laid  upon  the  snow,  and  admired,  and  we  fell  to  upon 
the  luncheon.  As  for  the  cherry  brandy,  we  could 
drink  it  like  claret,  and  feel  no  ill  effects  in  such  a 
frost.  The  birds  which  we  had  laid  upon  the  snow 
were  frozen  hard  and  fast  to  the  surface  when  we  once 
more  started  to  shoot. 

Our  idea  was  to  take  down  a  long  boundary  fence, 
some  three-quarters  of  a  mile  in  length,  which  marked 
the  limit  of  a  three-hundred  acre  farm.  Most  of  this 
had,  in  accordance  with  modern  notions,  been  stripped 
of  its  hedges,  and  laid  into  one  monotonous  stretch  of 
corn  land.  Many  strong  coveys  of  French  birds  had 
been  on  it  all  the  season,  and  had  hitherto  laughed  at 
all  our  efforts  to  touch  them. 

To-day,  as  we  expected,  they  were  all  along  the 
boundary  fence,  and  not  choosing  to  desert  it  for  the 
white  and  covertless  expanse  of  snow,  they  simply  flew 
on,  and  pitched  in  again.  The  first  covey  rose  wild, 
but  we  saw  them  all  drop  in  pairs  and  singly  along 
the  fence,  so  calling  the  dogs  in,  we  hurried  onwards. 
A  hare  then  bounced  out  from  the  ditch,  looking  as 
big  and  brown  as  a  fox,  and  fell  to  my  gun,  and  before 
we  reached  the  spot  where  the  other  birds  had  dropped, 
another  covey  rose,  straggling  from  the  fence,  and  left 
three  of  their  number  kicking  on  the  snow  ;  these  also 
went  forward,  and  we  began  to  have  great  hopes  of  a 


SHOOTING  RED-LEGS  IN  THE   SNOW       253 

bag.  Soon  the  spaniels  came  to  the  place  where  the 
covey  had  begun  to  drop  in.  It  was  easy  to  find  them, 
for  the  place  where  each  bird  had  alighted  was  plainly 
marked  in  the  snow,  with  his  track  leading  to  the  deep 
ditch,  and  thick  straggling  hedgerow.  The  spaniels 
grasped  the  situation  at  once,  and,  instead  of  floundering 
about  in  the  snowy  hedge  bottom,  went  up  to  the 
place  which  we  indicated,  and  soon  pushed  the  birds 
up.  Five  of  this  covey  were  secured  ;  but,  even  in  the 
difficulties  of  the  snow,  their  usual  cunning  did  not 
altogether  forsake  them,  and  many  a  chance  was  spoiled 
on  my  brother's  side  of  the  fence  by  their  rising  just 
when  he  was  engaged  in  scrambling  over  the  cross 
fences  which  were  pretty  numerous  on  that  side  of  the 
boundary.  Further  on  we  put  up  two  fresh  coveys, 
and  picked  up  several  single  birds,  which  were  by  this 
time  well  scattered.  The  last  twenty  yards  of  the 
fence  yielded  three,  and,  counting  our  bag  since 
luncheon,  we  found  that  we  had  ten  red-legs  and  a 
hare.  Some  of  these  we  decided  to  take  to  a  large 
farmhouse  which  stood  in  some  park-like  meadows 
surrounded  by  a  moat,  like  so  many  of  the  large  farm- 
houses of  Suffolk.  A  good  many  moor-hens  or  "  water- 
cocks,"  as  they  are  called  in  the  eastern  counties, 
frequented  this  moat,  and  "  water-cock  pie  "  is  a  dish 
which  any  one  who  has  tasted  it  will  wish  to  try  again. 
The  moat  was  frozen  tight  as  an  iron  safe,  and  we 
rightly  conjectured  that  the  water-hens  would  have  left 
it,  and  be  hiding  in  the  deep  ditches  in  the  meadows. 
Both  the  spaniels  were  immensely  keen  in  hunting 


254  IN  HIGH  SUFFOLK 

these  birds,  which  give  them  all  the  pleasure  of  running 
the  foot  scent,  as  they  slip  up  and  down  the  ditches, 
with  the  final  excitement  of  a  flush.  To-day  the  snow 
wreaths  so  weighed  the  brambles  down  that  the  birds 
could  slip  along  underneath  them,  though  the  dogs 
could  not.  Several,  however,  must  have  run  forward 
to  a  small  pond  further  on,  for  from  the  banks  of  this 
the  dogs  flushed  five,  first  "  setting  "  them,  and  then 
making  a  rush.  The  water-hen,  unable  to  dive  or 
flutter  across  the  water,  rose  high,  and  flew  back  over 
our  heads  towards  the  house  and  moat,  giving  very 
pretty  shots,  and  we  secured  all  five. 

After  leaving  some  of  the  game  at  the  farm,  and 
getting  our  cherry  brandy  flasks  refilled,  we  decided  to 
send  the  man  home  with  the  rest  of  the  game,  and  go 
ourselves  to  a  small  spinney  near  at  hand  to  wait  for 
wood-pigeons.  Twilight  was  coming  on  fast,  but  the 
light  was  reflected  from  the  snow,  and  an  early  moon 
was  already  up,  looking  silvery  and  white. 

Waiting  quietly  under  the  fir-trees,  I  could  hear  the 
sounds  in  the  farmyard  as  the  horses  were  watered  and 
taken  to  the  stable,  and  the  calls  of  the  partridges 
before  going  to  their  roosting-places  in  the  snow. 
Then  an  inquisitive  jay  came  down  the  plantation  to 
have  a  peep  at  the  intruder,  and  was  shot.  A  flock  of 
fieldfares  then  next  arrived,  with  squeaks  and  chattering, 
and  I  was  tempted  to  try  and  add  a  few  of  these 
excellent  birds  to  the  projected  "  water-cock  pie." 
Just  then  I  heard  the  "  swish  "  of  wings,  and  a  flock  of 
pigeons  circled  round,  and  settled  in  the  larches  near. 


SHOOTING  RED-LEGS  IN  THE  SNOW       255 

One  I  "  potted/'  and  as  the  flock  dashed  off,  I  heard 
my  brother's  gun,  and  surmised  that  they  had  paid  toll 
in  passing.  Before  long  I  had  two  more,  and  found 
that  he  had  also  secured  a  couple.  By  this  time, 
though  not  too  dark  to  shoot,  the  cold  was  so  intense 
that  we  decided  to  go  home.  It  was  time,  for  when 
we  got  there  our  stockings  were  tight  frozen  to  our 
boots. 

Apropos  of  shooting  in  the  snow,  I  may  mention 
a  strange  experience  that  occurred  to  me  when  shooting 
in  the  snow  near  Pangbourne.  It  had  been  intended 
to  drive  partridges  on  a  neighbouring  property  that 
day,  but  a  deep  fall  of  snow  the  night  before  caused 
this  to  be  postponed.  In  the  afternoon  I  went  out 
with  another  gun,  more  for  exercise  than  with  any 
expectation  of  killing  game.  We  found  one  or  two 
hares  buried  in  the  snow  in  the  way  I  have  mentioned, 
but  the  birds,  which  were  numerous,  \yere  much  too 
wild  to  approach,  and  the  immense  quantity  of  snow  on 
bush  and  branch  rendered  any  attempt  to  beat  even 
the  smallest  spinney  impossible.  Eventually  my 
companion  and  I  separated,  he  walking  along  one  side 
of  a  valley,  while  I,  with  the  keeper,  took  the  opposite 
brow,  with  the  hope  that  one  or  other  might  put  birds 
across,  and  so  give  a  chance  of  a  shot.  After  some  time 
I  was  far  ahead,  when  I  heard  a  distant  cry  of  "  mark,'' 
and  a  covey  of  seven  birds  was  seen  flying  across  the 
valley  in  our  direction.  The  wind  was  dead  against 
them,  and  it  was  some  time  before  they  reached  the 
field  we  were  in,  and  pitched  some  sixty  yards  from  us, 


256  IN  HIGH  SUFFOLK 

the  first  pair  close  to  the  fence,  the  rest  at  irregular 
intervals  of  from  one  to  twenty  yards  from  each  other. 
The  snow  was  quite  soft  and  powdery,  but  my  surprise 
was  great  to  see  the  birds,  instead  of  rising  as  I 
approached,  gradually  sink  out  of  sight  in  the  soft 
mass.  By  the  time  I  reached  them  only  the  backs  of 
the  first  pair  were  visible,  and  both  let  me  come  within 
ten  yards  before  rising.  I  shot  both,  and  looked  for 
the  others.  .  They  had  disappeared.  Presently  I  saw 
two  small  depressions  in  the  snow,  about  an  inch  lower 
than  the  rest.  When  I  was  quite  close,  up  jumped  a 
partridge,  which  I  shot ;  and  then  another  from  beneath 
the  snow.  Ten  yards  further  on  was  another  little 
mark  in  the  snow,  which  also  yielded  a  bird  ;  and  a 
sixth  the  keeper  caught  under  the  fence.  The  seventh 
rose  close  by,  but  I  did  not  shoot.  They  were  in 
splendid  condition,  plump,  and  strong. 


SOMERSETSHIRE    COOMBS 


A   WHIT-MONDAY   FISHING 

MOUNTAIN,  sea,  and  stream  are  the  natural  features 
which  most  invite  tired  men  from  town  ;  and  for  our 
part  we  could  never  understand  where  lay  the  difficulty 
of  choice.  The  human  fancy  which  saw  in  every 
stream  the  intelligible  form  of  a  god,  a  nymph,  or  a 
saint,  will  not  be  lightly  blamed.  There  are  rivers  in 
England  to  suit  every  mood  of  man,  and  suggest  every 
impulse  whether  of  melancholy,  merriment,  or  repose. 
But  no  one  would  consciously  choose  a  sad  stream  as  the 
scene  of  a  sojourn,  however  short,  upon  its  banks.  The 
sight  of  the 

"full-fed  river  winding  slow 
By  herds  upon  an  endless  plain ; 
The  ragged  rims  of  thunder,  brooding  low, 
With  shadow-streaks  of  rain," 

is  apt  to  breed  melancholy  and  depression,  as  it  did  in 
the  Soul  which  owned  the  "  Palace  of  Art."  Nor  do 
we  love  best,  even  as  the  companions  of  a  day,  those 


258  SOMERSETSHIRE   COOMBS 

quiet,  slumbrous  streams  which  poets'  fancies  have  ever 
painted  as  singing  the  lullaby  of  sleeping  gods.     The 

"  Rivus  aquae  Lethes,  per  quern  cum  murmure  labens 
Invitat  somnos  crepitantibus  unda  lapillis  ; " 

the 

"  Rock-born  flow  of  L'ethe's  streams, 
With  muffled  murmur  of  a  thousand  tongues, 
Of  tinkling  pebbles  soothing  Somnus'  dreams." 

Merriment,  not  repose,  is  the  best  and  brightest  gift  of 
the  young  summer  ;  and  we  must  seek  it,  not  by  the 
solemn  rivers  of  the  plain,  or  by  the  dropping  springs 
of  the  rocks,  but  by  the  brooks  that  come  dancing 
down  from  the  hills,  and  overrun  in  a  thousand  tiny 
channels  the  sloping  meadows  of  Somerset  or  Devon. 

There  are  thousands  of  such  rivulets  in  the  west 
country,  not  brown  and  peaty,  like  the  becks  of  York- 
shire or  the  burns  of  Scotland,  nor  white  and  glassy, 
like  the  Hampshire  chalk-streams,  but  honest  little 
home-spun  brooks  without  a  history,  though  rarely 
lacking  a  name,  some  running  through  the  homesteads 
of  the  upland  farms,  some  rilling  the  fish-ponds  of  the 
old  manor-houses,  others  mere  channels  in  the  broken 
faces  of  the  hills.  But  whatever  the  nature  of  their 
upper  course,  all  are  alike  controlled  at  last  by  the 
ingenious  western  farmer,  and  carried  along  the  ridges 
of  the  coombs  in  a  network  of  terraced  rivulets,  by  a 
system  of  engineering  which  tradition  has  made  almost 
perfect  for  its  purpose,  until  they  reunite  at  last  and 
rush  through  the  wooded  bottoms  to  the  waiting  sea. 
In  early  summer,  these  water-meadows  are  the  chosen 


A    WH1T-MONDA  Y  FISHING  259 

resort  of  every  form  of  wild  life  in  the  neighbourhood. 
The  leverets  come  down  to  nibble  the  rich  grass  at 
night,  and  play  along  the  sides  of  the  tiny  dykes  ;  and 
in  the  early  morning  the  cock-pheasants  slip  out  from 
the  covers  to  drink  and  feed.  The  peewits  are  tamer 
there  than  on  the  hills  above,  and  the  wood-pigeons, 
rooks,  and  jackdaws  bathe  in  the  shallows,  and  leave 
their  broken  feathers  and  footmarks  on  the  soft  mud. 
Big  trout  leave  the  main  stream  and  slip  into  the  cuts, 
where  they  grow  fat  on  the  grubs  and  insects  and 
little  trout,  and  even  young  salmon  force  their  way 
up  to  the  upper  waters,  until  they  reach  the  utmost 
sources  of  the  stream. 

Owners  of  the  ancient  fishponds  once  attached  to 
every  house  of  consideration  in  the  country-side,  re- 
membering the  old  saying  that  an  acre  of  water  is 
worth  four  acres  of  land,  often  take  advantage  of  the 
chance  offered  by  the  subdivision  of  these  streams  to 
re-stock  their  home  waters  with  young  and  lively  trout ; 
and  if  the  streams  are  not  too  high,  a  "  Whit-Monday 
fishing "  with  this  object  will  convince  the  most 
sceptical  visitor  that  the  fun  and  merriment  of  the 
good  old  days  in  the  country  have  by  no  means  passed 
away,  and  that  master  and  man  may  still  unite  in 
the  common  pursuit  of  sport  and  amusement.  For 
sport  it  is,  though  catching,  not  killing,  be  the  object, 
and  the  quarry  only  lively  little  brook-trout,  and  eels, 
and  lamperns,  destined,  however,  to  grow  strong  and 
lusty  fish  in  the  fat  waters  of  the  manor  pond.  Nor 
need  the  Hampshire  fly-fisher  share  the  feelings  of 


260  SOMERSETSHIRE    COOMBS 

resentment  which  the  writer  once  saw  excited  by  the 
simple  narrative  of  a  method  of  taking  trout  in  the 
water-meadows,  given  by  an  Andover  rustic  :  "  When 
us  sees  a  big  'un,  us  shuts  down  the  sluice  ;  and  then 
us  runs  he  up  and  down  until  he  be  that  blowed  he 
can't  a-move  ;  and  then  us  gropples  he/'  For  the 
"  fishing "  entails  hard  and  enduring  toil  before  the 
trout  can  be  transferred  from  the  brook  to  the  tub 
on  the  cart  which  waits  to  carry  them  to  their  new 
home.  Such,  at  least,  was  the  experience  of  the  last 
occasion  of  the  kind  in  which  the  writer  assisted. 

The  scene  was  in  a  narrow  coomb,  down  which  ran 
one  of  the  minor  tributaries  of  the  river  Yarty,  on 
whose  banks  Sir  Francis  Drake  was  born,  and  beyond 
which  lies  the  Tudor  manor-house,  which  was  part  of 
the  grant  awarded  to  him  by  Queen  Elizabeth,  with  an 
estate,  held,  like  the  house,  by  his  descendants,  within 
sight  of  the  birthplace  of  the  first  circumnavigator 
of  the  globe.  The  stream  ran  almost  beneath  the 
windows  of  an  even  more  ancient  manor-house,1 
dating  from  the  days  of  Henry  VII.,  on  the 
Somerset  side  of  the  Yarty,  and  the  trout-pools  below 
the  mansion  were  yearly  filled  from  the  young  fish 
taken  from  the  lower  waters.  Close  by  were  the 
remains  of  a  Roman  gentleman's  comfortable  villa  ;  and 
it  is  not  improbable  that  our  Whit-Monday  fishing 
may  have  been  a  repetition  of  yearly  scenes  of  country 
economics,  supervised  by  the  polite  Roman,  whose 
interest  in  domestic  comfort  doubtless  extended  from 
1  Whitestaunton  Manor. 


A    WHIT-MONDAY  FISHING  261 

the  arrangement  of  his  hypocaust  and  neatly  con- 
structed Turkish  bath,  still  remaining,  to  the  u  stagna," 
or  fish-ponds,  which  gave  him  grilled  trout  for 
breakfast. 

The  spot  selected  lay  in  a  wood,  at  a  point  where 
the  brook  divided  for  some  distance  into  two  streams, 
— the  one,  straight,  deep,  and  rapid ;  the  other,  a 
succession  of  small  pools,  joined  by  miniature  cata- 
racts, in  which  the  water  danced  down  from  pool 
to  pool  over  lumps  of  flint  and  brown  chalcedony. 
Early  in  the  morning,  the  men — for  this  is  no  boy's 
work — had  dammed  the  last  stream  at  the  fork,  and 
turned  most  of  the  water  down  the  straight  channel  ; 
and  when  we  tramped  through  the  squashy  meadows, 
and  the  thick  growth  of  wood-elder,  wake-robin,  wild 
garlic,  and  blue  and  pink  comfrey  in  the  wood,  to  join 
the  workers,  the  chain  of  pools  was  only  connected  by 
an  inch  of  trickling  water.  But  the  instinct  by  which 
fish  detect  and  follow  the  first  warning  of  scarcity,  had 
already  caused  them  to  withdraw  to  the  deepest  holes 
and  hollows,  and  even  the  groping  of  a  practised  hand 
under  the  banks  detected  no  sign  of  a  trout.  No  one 
who  has  not  tried  to  empty  it,  would  believe  the 
quantity  of  water  which  a  small  pool  holds.  When  a 
dam  of  turf  cut  from  the  banks  has  been  thrown  across, 
to  prevent  the  waters  below  running  back  as  the  surface 
sinks,  two  men  step  into  the  pool,  and  rapidly  and 
steadily,  like  machines,  fling  the  water  forward  and  over 
it,  until  the  sweat  rolls  from  their  foreheads,  and  we 
volunteer  to  take  their  places.  Stepping  into  the  cool 


262  SOMERSETSHIRE    COOMBS 

water,  we  do  our  best  to  imitate  the  mechanical  swing 
and  cast  of  the  practised  hands,  until  the  pails  strike  the 
bottom,  and  only  a  few  gallons  remain.  Then,  as  we 
grope  in  among  the  rocks  and  stones,  the  water  seems 
alive  with  fish,  and  the  excitement  grows.  Half-a- 
dozen  pairs  of  hands  are  busy  feeling  among  the  slippery 
roots  and  hovers,  and  shouts  of  laughter  rise,  as  the 
nimble  trout  spring  from  the  grasping  fingers,  or  are 
held  and  carried  full  speed  across  the  brambles  and 
under-growth  to  the  tub.  Nothing  could  exceed  the 
beauty  of  these  small  brook-trout,  streaked  with  yellow, 
olive,  and  silver,  and  studded  with  vermilion  spots,  and 
showing  their  contempt  for  the  temporary  discomfort  of 
their  capture  by  a  violent  jump  and  fling  of  their  tail 
as  they  drop  from  the  hands  of  their  muddy  captor  into 
the  clean  water  of  the  tub.  But  the  trout,  though  the 
main  object  of  the  foray,  are  not  the  only  denizens  of 
the  pool.  Eels  and  lampreys  and  the  odd  little 
"  miller's  thumbs  "  abound,  and  the  pursuit  of  the  eels 
is  an  endless  source  of  laughter  and  mishap.  A  big 
yellow  eel  slips  through  half-a-dozen  pairs  of  hands, 
writhing  round  and  under  rocks,  in  and  out  of  the 
tree-roots  from  which  the  water  has  worn  the  soil,  and 
back  into  the  deepest  hole  left  in  the  pool.  "  Drat 
he  !  "  exclaims  an  old  labourer,  looking  at  his  bruised 
knuckles,  "  he  be  so  nimble  as  a  little  pig,"  citing 
appropriately  the  most  difficult  creature  to  catch — next 
to  an  eel — in  his  experience.  But  at  last  the  trout  and 
eels  are  all  caught,  and  nothing  left  in  the  pool  but  the 
"  miller's  thumbs,"  or  "  bull-heads,"  and  certain  tiny 


A    WHIT-MONDAY  FISHING  263 

and  game-like  little  fish,  which  we  suspect  to  be,  not 
troutlets,  but  young  salmon.  In  the  larger  pools  which 
hold  the  finest  trout,  it  is  often  impossible  to  throw 
away  enough  water  to  make  the  capture. 

The  closing  scene  of  the  "  fishing  "  was  a  swan-hunt, 
in  order  to  capture  and  shut  up  the  royal  birds,  which 
would  have  given  little  law  to  the  young  trout  when 
turned,  tired  and  bewildered,  into  the  strange  waters  of 
the  manor  ponds  ;  and  it  was  not  until  after  much 
manoeuvring  and  strategy  that  the  swans  were  driven 
from  the  water,  and  shut  up,  hissing  and  indignant,  in 
the  pen  which  is  reserved  for  such  occasions.  But 
the  fish  soon  become  accustomed  to  the  spacious  waters 
of  their  new  home,  and  there  thrive  and  grow  fat, 
until  they  fall  victims  to  the  rod,  and  form  not  the 
least  welcome  of  the  "  kindly  fruits  of  the  earth  "  which 
a  well-managed  estate  provides  for  its  owner's  table. 

In  a  similar  enterprise  in  a  different  part  of  Somer- 
setshire, at  which  the  writer  assisted,  a  number  of  fine 
trout  took  refuge  in  a  deep  hole  under  the  bank,  where 
the  tips  of  their  tails  only  would  be  reached  by  the 
hands  stretched  to  the  utmost  limit  which  the  water 
allowed,. >:  One  of  the  party,  fired  by  the  enthusiasm  of 
the  moment,  divested  himself  of  all  raiment,  and  lying 
down  in  the  water,  drew  out,  one  by  one,  the  reluctant 
fish.  Meantime,  the  "water  "  became  a  thin  red  paste, 
deeply  coloured  by  the  red  marl  of  the  district,  and 
when  the  successful  bather  emerged,  he  stood  like  an 
interesting  example  of  terra-cotta  statuary,  until  a  dip 
in  the  mill-pool  enabled  him  to  resume  his  costume. 


264  SOMERSETSHIRE    COOMBS 

The  pools  which  it  was  intended  to  stock  were  a 
chain  formed  in  one  of  the  lovely  coombs  that  run 
down  from  the  Quantock  Hills  towards  the  Bristol 
Channel.  At  the  head  of  it  is  a  pass  which  the  red- 
deer  stag  usually  take  when  hunted  in  this  neighbour- 
hood, and  making  for  the  sea.  Lower  down,  where 
masses  of  deep  purple  heather  and  bracken  almost  hid 
the  little  stream,  the  owner  had  made  one  or  two 
small  pools,  by  throwing  a  few  stems  of  Scotch  fir 
across,  and  banking  them  with  turf.  The  experiment 
grew  more  interesting  the  lower  down  the  valley  he 
descended.  The  pools  grew  larger,  the  trout  more 
numerous,  and  the  satisfaction  which  attends  minor 
engineering  feats,  prompted  further  efforts.  At  length 
he  plunged  boldly  into  building,  and  made  a  fine  stone 
wall  across  the  coomb,  and  gained  an  additional  pool 
larger  than  a  tennis  lawn.  All  went  well  during  the 
summer,  though  the  farmer  who  lived  lower  down 
sometimes  expressed  a  doubt  as  to  what  might  happen 
in  winter  rains.  There  was  a  small  farmyard  and 
piggery  below,  and  a  kitchen  garden,  and  further  down  a 
long  narrow  lake  in  the  grounds  of  the  owner's  house. 
One  night  the  farmer  was  awakened  by  dismal  sounds, 
and  a  sound  of  waters.  The  stone  dyke  had  given 
way,  the  water  was  rushing  down,  and  had  washed  the 
pigs  into  the  gooseberry  bushes.  Soon  it  tore  these  up, 
and  pigs,  garden,  and  gooseberry  bushes  went  rolling  on 
to  the  lake.  The  lake  burst  its  lower  end,  and  went 
on  an  excursion  down  the  road,  and  far  into  the  valley, 
taking  with  it  thousands  of  tench  and  eels,  which  were 


A    WHIT-MONDAY  FISHING  265 

picked  up,  wriggling  and  perplexed,  in  the  newly- 
formed  river-bed  in  the  road.  This  was  an  unfortunate 
result  of  amateur  engineering  ;  but  the  business  of 
making  fish-pools  is  now  better  understood,  and  the 
results  are  beyond  measure  satisfactory  to  the  owners 
of  these  artificial  lakes. 


266 


THE   EAGLE   IN    ENGLAND 

IN  November  1891  a  spotted  eagle  was  caught  at 
Elmstead  near  Colchester.  It  appears  to  have  alighted 
exhausted  in  a  field,  and  to  have  been  there  chased  and 
caught,  after  weak  efforts  to  fly,  by  a  labourer,  who 
sold  it  to  a  gipsy,  from  whom  it  was  bought  by  a 
benevolent  bird-stuffer  ;  and  as  it  is  reported  to  have 
eaten  in  three  days  a  rabbit,  a  large  fowl,  and  many 
pounds  of  mutton,  it  may  be  taken  that  its  health  was 
perfectly  restored,  after  its  involuntary  flight  across  the 
German  Ocean.  For  the  spotted  eagle  is  amongst  the 
rarest  stragglers  to  England,  and  the  bird  should  by 
this  time  be  far  on  its  journey  to  the  south,  or  making 
its  way  with  others  of  its  kind  up  the  Nile  Valley, 
towards  the  mountains  of  Abyssinia.  But  though  the 
spotted  eagle  is  so  rare  a  visitor  to  this  country,  eagles 
are  less  uncommon  in  England  than  might  be  supposed, 
and  hardly  a  season  passes  in  which  they  are  not  seen, 
even  in  the  south.  Two  are  said  to  have  been  seen 
flying  over  Westminster  during  the  frost  of  February 
1895  >  and  though  this  report  is  not  corroborated,  it  is 
certain  that  during  the  past  few  years,  sea-eagles  have 


THE  EAGLE  IN  ENGLAND  267 

been  seen  frequently  in  the  Isle  of  Thanet  and  in  the 
great  flats  and  marshes  near  the  estuary  of  the  Thames  ; 
and  though  there  were  constant  notices  of  their  appear- 
ance in  the  local  papers,  owing  to  the  open  nature  of 
the  country,  and  the  absence  of  game-preserving  and 
vermin-traps,  they  have  generally  escaped  destruction. 
In  other  parts  of  Kent,  they  have  been  less  fortunate. 
In  1887,  one  was  shot  at  Minster,  and  one  at  Eastwell 
Park.  But  a  third  which  was  seen  was  not  destroyed, 
though  the  dangerous  attraction  of  the  game-preserves 
must  naturally  tempt  the  hungry  young  eagles  from 
the  safer  but  almost  foodless  marshes1  by  the  coast. 
Most  of  those  killed  in  the  south  are  young  sea-eagles, 
which  seem  to  follow  a  general  line  along  the  east  coast, 
and  sometimes  so  far  adhere  to  the  ancient  instincts  of 
their  race  as  to  make  some  stay  in  the  Norfolk  warrens 
and  marshes,  where  they  were  once  so  common  as 
to  be  known  as  the  "  fen-eagles."  But  eagles  appear 
in  other  parts  of  England,  and  it  is  probable  that  if 
they  could  be  protected  from  those  who,  unlike 
shepherds  and  gamekeepers,  have  neither  lambs  nor 
game  to  suffer  from  their  ravenous  appetite,  some 
might  come  once  more  to  nest  in  their  ancient  breeding- 
places  in  the  cliffs  of  the  south  and  west. 

An  eagle  which  was  clearly  not  a  passing  autumn 
traveller,  but  which  remained  till  late  in  the  winter, 
appeared  a  few  years  ago  on  the  Quantock  Hills,  a 

1  Those  marshes  near  Rochester,  where  the  Cliffe  coursing  club 
hold  their  meetings,  and  on  the  Essex  coast  near  Southminster 
are  an  exception.  They  swarm  with  hares. 


268  THE  EAGLE   IN  ENGLAND 

district  quite  apart  from  the  line  of  migration  of  the 
coasting  eagles,  and  one  in  which  the  cliffs  and  coast  of 
the  Bristol  Channel,  and  the  open  country  on  the 
Quantock  and  Brendon  Hills  and  Exmoor,  offer  a 
home  as  suited  to  the  sea-eagle  as  the  coasts  of  Jura. 
"  We  first  saw  the  eagle,"  writes  a  correspondent,  "  on 
Christmas  Day,  circling  above  the  carcass  of  a  sheep  on 
the  side  of  the  hill.  For  several  days  we  observed  the 
bird  wheeling  over  the  moor,  mainly  on  the  high  hills  ; 
but  once  or  twice  it  was  seen  flying  over  the  low  lands 
near  the  villages.  It  had  evidently  been  feeding  upon 
the  sheep,  which  was  freshly  killed,  but  probably  not 
by  the  eagle  ;  it  was  too  early  for  lambs  upon  the 
hills,  so  it  probably  fed  upon  carrion  and  rabbits.  It 
remained  for  about  a  month  after  we  saw  it,  but 
towards  the  end  of  January  it  was  wounded  by  some 
gunner,  and  afterwards  picked  up  dead  by  a  labourer." 
If  this  eagle  had  escaped,  it  might  perhaps  have  found 
a  mate  and  occupied  the  old  eyrie  in  Lundy  Island, 
and  the  eagle  and  the  red-deer  might  have  once  more 
become  neighbours  on  the  coasts  of  Devon  and 
Somerset.  Since  the  death  of  the  bird  mentioned, 
another  is  said  by  a  good  observer  to  have  haunted  the 
Quant ocks,  near  St.  Audreys ;  if  so,  it  has  so  far 
escaped  the  fate  of  its  predecessor.  Culver  Cliffs,  in 
the  Isle  of  Wight,  are  said  to  have  been  an  old  eyrie  of 
the  erne,  or  sea-eagle  ;  and  the  Arnescliff,  a  mass  of 
stone  jutting  from  one  of  the  hills  in  Wharfedale,  in 
Yorkshire,  still  recalls  its  former  presence  south  of  the 
border.  But  as  most  of  those  which  might  settle  again 


THE  EAGLE  IN  ENGLAND  269 

in  the  English  cliffs  are  young  birds  driven  by  their 
parents  from  the  eyries  in  the  north,  we  must  look  to 
Scotland  as  the  source  of  supply  ;  and  there  it  is  to  be 
feared  that  the  sea-eagles  are  dwindling  in  numbers, 
mainly  owing  to  the  incessant  war  waged  upon  them 
by  shepherds  and  "  oologists."  It  may  be  doubted 
whether  the  bribes  offered  by  the  latter  are  not  more 
stimulating  than  even  the  loss  of  their  lambs  in  spring- 
time to  the  egg-robbing  ardour  of  the  shepherds.  Still, 
the  sea-eagles  are  by  general  consent  ill  neighbours  to 
the  young  lambs  which  are  born  on  the  hills,  and  lie 
out  scattered  on  the  moors.  On  the  poor  and  barren 
Highland  coast  there  is  little  farm  stock  to  be  injured, 
except  the  lambs  ;  but  where  they  are  to  be  found, 
little  pigs  are  said  to  offer  great  temptations  to  the 
sea-eagles,  and  one  was  caught  in  the  Hebrides  in  a 
stye  into  which  it  had  descended,  but  which  was  too 
narrow  to  allow  it  to  spread  its  wings  and  escape. 
What  a  scene  such  a  foray  among  the  pigs  would  cause 
in  a  well-regulated  English  farmyard  !  The  statement 
of  a  shepherd  that  in  one  season  more  than  thirty 
lambs  were  killed  by  eagles  on  a  single  sheep-farm  has 
been  doubted,  on  the  ground  that  it  would  be  impos- 
sible to  judge  the  actual  loss,  or  the  cause,  on  the  wide 
area  of  a  Highland  "  farm."  But  perhaps  the  critics 
know  more  of  the  eagle's  habits  than  of  those  of  the 
sheep,  or  of  the  minute  and  careful  knowledge  possessed 
by  the  shepherds  as  to  the  numbers  of  the  flocks,  and 
the  particular  spots  in  which  the  ewes  drop  their  lambs 
on  the  hills. 


27o  THE  EAGLE  IN  ENGLAND 

Even  when  half-tamed  and  provided  with  food,  the 
sea-eagle  does  not  lose  its  predatory  habits.  A  full- 
grown  young  bird,  which  had  met  with  some  injury, 
was  kept  for  some  weeks  and  fed  by  the  gardener  at  an 
old  castle  in  the  West,  which  has  been  the  home  of  the 
chiefs  of  a  highland  clan  for  perhaps  as  long  as  the  cliff 
of  which  it  forms  almost  a  part  has  been  the  eyrie  of 
the  sea-eagles.  When  cured  and  released,  it  returned 
to  be  fed,  and  in  time  grew  so  familiar  as  to  enter  the 
house.  The  dining-room,  as  in  many  ancient  Scotch 
houses,  was  at  the  top  of  the  castle,  with  several  windows 
looking  out  over  the  Atlantic.  Breakfast  was  laid,  and 
many  of  the  guests  were  in  the  room,  when  an  open 
window  was  suddenly  darkened  as  the  eagle  flew  in  from 
the  sea,  and,  folding  its  wings,  alighted  on  the  sill.  It 
then  flapped  on  to  the  table,  and  after  looking  at  the 
guests  standing  in  the  room,  it  made  its  way  down  the 
table,  and  swallowed  the  butter,  which  was  set  for  use 
at  intervals  down  the  board.  For  two  years  the  eagle 
lived  about  the  castle  ;  but  its  visits  to  the  farmyards 
were  not  less  frequent,  and  though  "  indemnity "  for 
these  outrages  was  freely  paid,  it  is  to  be  feared  that 
the  eagle's  disappearance  was  due  to  a  reprisal  from  an 
injured  flock-owner.  There  is,  however,  good  reason 
to  believe  that  the  golden  eagle,  which  at  one  time 
seemed  destined  to  extermination,  is  rapidly  increasing 
in  numbers.  By  a  fortunate  chance,  its  powers  of 
destruction,  which  incurred  the  revenge  of  the  shep- 
herds and  grouse-preservers,  are  of  certain  service  to 
the  deer-stalker  by  keeping  down  the  numbers  of 


THE  EAGLE  IN  ENGLAND  271 

mountain-hares  which  live  on  the  hills,  and  often  spoil 
the  success  of  a  hard  morning's  stalking  by  jumping  up 
and  alarming  the  deer.  For  once,  the  sportsman  and  a 
bird  of  prey  can  exist  together,  and  the  eagles  are 
carefully  protected  in  order  that  they  may  aid  in 
keeping  the  forests  clear  of  all  other  animals  but  deer. 
In  these  vast  preserves — quiet,  secluded,  and  untrodden 
by  sheep  or  shepherds — the  golden  eagles  are  now 
suffered  to  rear  their  young,  and  have  so  far  increased 
in  numbers  that  it  is  rare  to  meet  with  a  deer-stalker 
who  is  not  familiar  with  their  appearance,  and  in  some 
degree  with  their  habits.  They  occasionally  kill  a  deer- 
calf,  and  have  been  known  to  attack  the  full-grown 
deer.  But  their  main  food  is  the  blue  hares,  and  these 
are  so  numerous  that  the  problem  of  maintaining  in 
any  numbers  a  carnivorous  bird  which  will  swallow 
five  or  six  pounds  of  meat  at  a  meal  presents  no 
difficulties.  It  is  quite  likely  that,  where  several  of 
these  protected  districts  adjoin,  the  golden  eagles  will 
once  more  become  numerous.  In  California,  where 
they  find  an  inexhaustible  supply  of  food  in  the 
land-tortoises  of  the  plains — a  curious  commentary  on 
the  story  of  the  death  of  ^Eschylus,  caused  by  a  tortoise 
let  fall  by  an  eagle — they  are  not  only  common  but 
exceedingly  tame,  building  their  nests  near  roads  and 
houses.  One  nest  was  found  in  a  small  live-oak  near  a 
road,  and  only  thirty  feet  from  the  ground,  built  of 
sticks  of  the  poison-oak  and  sage-brush.  An  old 
nest  was  close  by.  Another  eagle  had  decorated  its 
nest  with  a  large  "  soap-root  "  by  way  of  ornament ; 


272  THE  EAGLE  IN  ENGLAND 

and  the  next  year  the  same  bird  built  close  by,  and 
also  procured  a  "  soap-root  "  to  place  on  the  side  of  its 
nest,  which  showed  some  individuality  in  taste.  A 
third  eagle  had  a  fancy  for  sacks,  and  after  its  old  nest, 
which  contained  a  corn-sack,  had  been  blown  out  by  a 
storm,  it  built  a  fresh  one  close  by,  and  in  this  was 
found  another  and  a  new  sack.  The  eagles  seem  to  be, 
at  any  rate  in  some  parts  of  California,  almost  as 
common  as  the  kite  was  in  England,  and  to  have 
the  same  propensity  for  carrying  to  their  nests  any 
object  which  strikes  them  as  ornamental  or  interesting. 
It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that,  under  the  most  favourable 
circumstances,  the  golden  eagle  will  increase  to  such 
numbers  in  the  Highlands.  But  there  is  every  proba- 
bility that,  as  its  area  extends  in  the  North,  some  of  its 
earlier  breeding  places  in  the  South,  such  as  the 
Cheviots,  the  Peak  of  Derbyshire,  or  Westmoreland 
and  Cumberland,  where  it  nested  as  lately  as  1838, 
may  be  revisited,  and  that  we  may  before  long  see  the 
golden  eagle  re-established  in  England. 

The  following  extracts  from  a  letter  communicated 
to  the  writer  by  one  who  has  unequalled  facilities  for 
acquaintance  with  golden  eagles  gives  an  idea  of  the 
great  increase  in  their  numbers,  and  of  their  boldness 
in  the  "  protected  areas  "  of  the  deer  forests  where  they 
live.  "  Eagles  are  more  plentiful  now,  I  should  imagine, 
in  this  forest  than  anywhere  else  in  Scotland,  as  they 
have  always  been  carefully  preserved.  Three  years 
ago,  indeed,  while  I  was  stalking  hinds  in  the  winter, 
I  saw  eight  in  one  day.  One  rarely  goes  out  stalking 


THE  EAGLE  IN  ENGLAND  273 

without  seeing  one  or  more  in  that  beat  of  the  forest. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  river  also  they  are  comparatively 
plentiful.  Their  food  consists  of  all  sorts  of  game, 
sheep,  and  lambs.  They  seem  to  prefer  young  deer 
and  hares  to  anything  else.  These  they  kill,  though 
they  prefer  the  former  sick,  and  unable  to  help  them- 
selves. They  are  also  rather  destructive  among  lambs. 
An  eagle,  unless  hungry,  seems  to  be  a  cowardly  bird, 
and  rarely  attacks  anything  that  seems  likely  to  give 
it  much  trouble.  Last  year  I  was  stalking,  and  shot  a 
calf  by  accident,  which  was  coming  up  beside  a  hart,  in 
a  sort  of  gulley  formed  by  a  rock,  thus — 


Q 


I  was  at  the  point  x,  and  shot  the  beast  at  D.  The 
remainder  ran  over  the  ridge,  about  twenty  or  thirty 
feet  high  above  them,  and  I  ran  after  them.  I  shot  a 
hart  at  about  Q,  and  ran  back  to  see  what  I  had  done  at 
D.  There  I  found  my  calf,  with  his  eyes  already  torn 
out  by  an  eagle,  which  was  sitting  on  him,  and  just 
about  to  begin  a  good  meal.  It  must  have  been  very 
hungry,  as  after  I  had  shot  the  calf  I  was  never  twenty 
yards  from  it,  and  fired  a  shot,  though  I  was  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hill.  It  was  a  misty  day,  which  would 
make  a  little  difference. 

"  We  often  shoot  grouse  under  a  kite  at  the  end  of 


274  THE  EAGLE  IN  ENGLAND 

the  season,  when  it  would  otherwise  be  impossible  to  get 
within  shot  of  them.  The  kite  is  made  in  the  shape 
of  an  eagle,  and  causes  the  birds  to  sit  better,  and  rare 
sporting  shots  they  give  when  they  rise.  This  kite  is 
a  sure  draw  for  any  eagles  in  the  neighbourhood.  They 
come  swinging  round  it,  completely  puzzled,  and  cannot 
make  it  out  at  all.  The  other  day  we  were  accompanied 
for  two  or  three  hours  by  an  eagle,  a  falcon,  and  a 
merlin,  all  at  the  same  time." 


275 


CLIMBING   IN    ENGLAND 

IT  is  more  difficult  to  sympathize  with  other  people's 
amusements  than  with  their  troubles  in  this  world. 
The  reflection  is  not  new,  but  so  many  amusements  are, 
that  we  are  constantly  invited  to  recognize  its  truth. 
The  attraction  of  mountain-climbing,  especially  in  the 
minor  form  in  which  it  can  be  enjoyed  in  England,  is 
a  case  in  point.  Yet  the  admiration  for  our  mountain 
scenery  is  a  semi-modern  sentiment.  Speaking  of  the 
beautiful  Lune  Valley,  Defoe  wrote,  "  This  part  of  the 
country  seemed  very  strange  and  dismal  to  us  (nothing 
but  mountains  in  view,  and  stone  walls  for  hedges, 
some  oatcakes  for  bread,  or  clapat  bread  as  it  is  called). 
As  these  hills  were  so  lofty,  so  they  had  an  aspect  of 
terror.  Here  were  no  rich  pleasant  valleys  between 
them  as  in  the  Alps  ;  no  lead-mines  and  veins  of  rich 
ore  as  in  the  Peak  ;  no  coal-pits  as  in  the  hills  about 
Halifax  ! "  The  pleasure  of  climbing  for  climbing's 
sake  is  almost  as  little  understood  by  many  minds  at 
the  present  day,  as  the  picturesque  forms  of  the  moun- 
tains were  by  Defoe.  Yet  it  is  increasingly  popular,  as 
may  be  seen  from  the  work  on  this  amusement  as  now 


276  CLIMBING  IN  ENGLAND 

practised  in  this  country,  which  Mr.  Haskett  Smith 
recently  published,1  though  it  is  not  in  the  Cumberland 
Fells  that  the  taste  for  mountain-craft  usually  origin- 
ates. It  is  the  High  Alps  that  make  the  first  and 
obvious  appeal  to  the  uninitiated.  The  gratification  of 
the  sense  of  sight  is  the  main  inducement  held  out  by 
the  mountain-tops.  The  rims  and  peaks  of  the  ice- 
capped  walls  which  rise  so  high  and  so  steep  that  the 
eye  does  not  readily  see  clear  of  their  summits,  unless 
the  natural  poise  of  the  head  be  altered,  promises  a 
view  so  boundless  and  majestic  if  once  the  barrier  be 
topped,  that  the  imagination  is  kept  in  a  constant 
crescendo  of  excitement  and  curiosity  until  the  summit 
is  reached.  To  stand  level  with  the  heads  of  twenty 
Alps,  whose  glittering  peaks  stud  the  horizon  like  a 
riviere  of  brilliants,  or  to  see  the  plains  of  Lombardy 
spread,  like  a  carpet,  ten  thousand  feet  below,  and  thirty 
miles  beyond,  or  the  rising  sun  "  stand  tiptoe  on  the 
misty  mountain-top,"  or  the  "  bright  white  lightning  " 
leap  from  the  thunderstorm  in  the  valley  below,  or, 
best  of  all,  to  look  from  some  untrodden  peak  from 
which  no  human  eye  ever  yet  gazed, — these  are  the 
promises  which  beckon  the  climbers  to  the  mountain. 
Experience  often  shows  them  to  be  delusive  ;  but  it  is 
not  experience  which  issues  the  first  summons.  That 
is  the  work  of  imagination,  though  experience  often 
transforms  it  into  a  longing  which  outlasts  the  ability 
to  gratify  it.  The  exhilaration  of  the  air  is  such  that 

1  Climbing  in  the  British  Isles — England.     By  W.  P.  Haskett 
Smith.     London :  Longmans. 


CLIMBING  IN  ENGLAND  277 

at  reasonable  heights  of  from  five  to  ten  thousand  feet, 
a  buoyancy  of  spirits  and  strength  of  body  seem  to 
accrue  such  as  is  only  felt  elsewhere  in  rare  and  happy 
dreams.  All  sights  and  sounds  are  new  and  beautiful. 
The  flora  changes,  and  the  climber  finds  himself  among 
flowers  and  plants  unknown,  in  a  setting  equally  un- 
familiar. Sounds  gain  a  strange  clearness  and  resonance, 
and  the  mere  effort  of  producing  the  voice  has  an  effect 
of  sonority  such  as  nothing  but  some  mechanical  in- 
strument could  render  in  the  dull  air  which  creeps  on 
the  level  ground.  Then  at  the  last  comes  the  need  for 
physical  exertion,  coolness,  and  skill,  under  the  very 
circumstances  of  atmosphere  and  mental  exhilaration 
most  likely  to  secure  their  successful  development. 
The  extent  to  which  the  English  mountains  are  now 
used  as  a  training-ground  for  the  delights  of  Alpine 
climbing  is  evident  from  the  familiarity  with  particular 
spots  which  Mr.  Haskett  Smith's  book  presupposes  in 
his  readers.  The  delightful  difficulties  which  may  be 
found  and  surmounted  in  the  ascents  of  the  Pillar 
Rock,  of  Pavey  Ark,  Napes  Needle,  and  Moss  Gill, 
are  given  with  the  minuteness  of  detail  which  is  usually 
bestowed  on  the  climb  of  some  High  Alp  without  a 
guide.  Ice-climbing  needs  special  practice  in  the  glacial 
regions.  But  rock-climbing  can  be  learnt  almost  as 
well  on  the  mountains  of  the  Lake  district  as  on  any 
others.  There,  according  to  recent  experience,  it  "  may 
be  enjoyed  by  amateurs  without  incurring  the  reproach 
of  recklessness,  while  they  may  at  the  same  time  enjoy 
the  exquisite  pleasure  of  forming  their  own  plans  of 


278  CLIMBING  IN  ENGLAND 

attack,  of  varying  the  execution  of  them  according  to 
their  own  judgment,  and  finally  of  meeting  obstacles, 
as  they  arise,  with  their  own  skill  and  by  their  own 
strength,  and  overcoming  them  without  the  aid  of  a 
hired  professional."  The  peculiar  charm  of  these 
mountains,  to  the  initiated,  consists  in  the  cracks,  or 
"  chimneys,"  which  seam  the  precipices  from  top  to 
bottom.  Sometimes  these  are  damp  with  trickling 
water,  and  Nature  has  thoughtfully  lined  them  with 
moss.  Too  often  they  are  only  hard  and  angular 
crevices,  like  three  sides  of  a  chimney-top.  Up  these 
the  climber  wriggles,  like  an  eel  in  a  pipe.  In  reading 
the  records  of  their  ascent,  one  is  tempted  to  muse  on 
the  relative  nature  of  pleasure.  It  is  not  long  since 
master-sweeps  were  sent  to  prison  for  sending  their 
apprentice  boys  up  real  chimneys,  not  nearly  so  high, 
nor  so  dangerous,  as  those  of  Moss  Gill.  It  was  in  the 
interest  of  these  human  victims  that  a  philanthropist 
made  the  happy  suggestion  that  a  live  goose  pulled  up 
the  flue  with  a  string  would  do  just  as  well, — or,  if  not, 
that  a  couple  of  ducks  would  answer  the  purpose.  Now, 
amateurs  in  climbing  go  to  Cumberland  to  experience 
the  sensations  which  must  have  been  part  of  the  every- 
day lot  of  the  chimney  boy,  and  record  their  enjoyment 
in  print.  The  high  spirits  and  serious  fun  which 
underlie  these  accounts  speak  volumes  for  the  benefits 
of  mountain  air.  Winter  climbing  adds  the  pleasures 
of  surmounting  snow  and  ice  in  considerable  quantities, 
in  addition  to  the  difficulties  of  the  natural  rocks.  The 
"  Lakes  "  have  now  a  winter  season,  entirely  devoted  to 


CLIMBING  IN  ENGLAND  279 

the  best  class  of  English  climbing.  "There  is  no 
time,"  writes  Mr.  Haskett  Smith,  "  at  which  a  trip  to 
Lakeland  is  more  thoroughly  enjoyable.  In  the  first 
place,  there  is  no  crowd.  You  can  be  sure  that  you 
will  get  a  bed,  and  that  the  people  of  the  house  will  not 
be  too  overworked  to  make  you  comfortable.  You  will 
have  no  companions  but  life-long  lovers  of  the  moun- 
tains, and  robust  young  fellows  whose  highest  ambition 
is  to  gain  admission  to  the  Alpine  Club,  or  having 
gained  it,  to  learn  to  wield  with  some  appearance  of 
dexterity  the  ponderous  ice-axes  which  are  indispensable 
to  the  dignity  of  their  position.  How  different  are  the 
firm  outlines  of  the  distant  peaks  from  the  hazy  in- 
distinctness which  usually  falls  to  the  lot  of  the  summer 
tourist  !  What  sensation  is  more  delightful  than  that  of 
tramping  along  while  the  smooth  crisp  snow  crunches 
under  the  feet,  and  gazing  upward  at  the  lean  black 
crags  standing  out  boldly  from  the  long  smooth  slopes 
of  dazzling  white  !  Christmas  in  Cumberland  is  usually 
dry  and  fine,  as  is  pointed  out  triumphantly  by  those 
who  resent  Mr.  James  Payn's  sarcastic  allusion  to  "  dry 
weather  "  in  the  Lakes, "  which  is  said  to  have  occurred 
about  the  year  1824." 

The  Yorkshire  dales,  Cornwall,  and  Dartmoor, 
though  their  beauties  are  not  disparaged,  have  less 
attraction  for  the  ardent  learner  in  mountaineering. 
The  axiom  that  "  a  very  fine  hill  may  be  a  very  bad 
climb,"  applies  both  to  the  "  tors  "  and  the  limestone 
carrs  and  crags  of  millstone  grit.  But  the  great  sea- 
cliffs  of  England  offer  a  peculiar  and  natural  playground 


28o  CLIMBING  IN  ENGLAND 

to  the  devotee  of  climbing.  Old-fashioned  cragsmen, 
who,  unlike  the  modern  school,  risked  their  necks  with 
a  purpose,  if  only  for  the  very  inadequate  one  of 
gathering  sea-fowls*  eggs,  or  taking  a  falcon's  or  raven's 
eyrie,  chose  an  exactly  opposite  method  of  attack  to 
that  now  in  favour.  They  accepted  the  fact  that  it  is 
usually  easier  to  reach  the  juts  and  ledges  of  a  cliff 
from  the  top  than  from  the  bottom,  and  that 
scrambling  about  on  slippery  chalk  or  treacherous  lime- 
stone was  quite  dangerous  enough  for  glory,  if  the  rope 
were  made  fast  to  a  crowbar  above,  and  not  to  the 
waists  of  a  line  of  climbers  tied  together  like  bits  of 
paper  on  the  tail  of  a  kite.  Of  course,  these  men 
sometimes  grew  over-confident,  and  paid  the  penalty 
with  their  lives  ;  but  the  margin  of  safety  is  usually 
ample,  and  there  is  no  reason  why  the  particular  crags- 
man who  has  taken  the  young  ravens  from  the  Culver 
Cliffs,  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  for  the  last  seven  years, 
should  not  do  so  till  he  is  too  stiff  to  climb.  But  the 
modern  athlete  prefers  to  treat  the  cliffs  as  training- 
grounds  for  practising  manoeuvres  likely  to  be  useful  in 
recognized  mountaineering.  The  use  of  the  rope  is 
not  discountenanced,  but  only  in  Alpine  form,  as  a  link 
between  the  climbers.  Some  of  the  directions  for  the 
"  use  of  cliffs  "  seem  horribly  dangerous  ;  and  the  art  of 
climbing  is  considered  so  entirely  an  end  in  itself,  that 
the  precipices  are  merely  mentioned  in  the  terms  of  the 
material  for  the  exercise  of  a  fine  art,  chalk  being 
described  rather  quaintly  as  a  "  treacherous  and  difficult 
medium,  and  one  which  is  likely  to  lead  those  practising 


CLIMBING  IN  ENGLAND  281 

on  it  to  be  very  careful  climbers."  The  uses  of  the 
magnificent  cliffs  of  Dover,  and  between  that  place  and 
Folkstone,  with  the  precipices  of  Beachy  Head,  and  the 
vertical  cliffs  to  the  west  of  it,  are  thus  indicated  for 
the  enjoyment  of  seaside  visitors  who  may  think  of  a 
visit  to  the  English  lakes  next  year,  and  of  qualifying 
for  the  Alps  the  year  after.  "  As  a  rule  chalk  is  only 
sufficiently  solid  for  real  climbing  for  the  first  20  ft. 
above  high-water  mark,  though  here  and  there  40  ft.  of 
fairly  trustworthy  rock  may  be  found.  These  sections 
of  hard  chalk  are  invariably  those  which  at  their  base 
are  washed  by  the  sea  at  high  tide."  "  Traverses,"  or 
scrambles  sideways,  are  the  proper  exercises  in  these 
delightful  spots  ;  "  a  good  olyectifmay  be  found  in  the 
endeavour  to  work  out  a  route  to  the  various  small 
beaches  that  are  cut  off  by  the  high  tide  and  the  cliffs." 
The  discovery  of  these  little  hidden  bays  and  rock- 
gardens  is  always  interesting  ;  but  though  Mr.  Haskett 
Smith  properly  cautions  his  readers  that  in  climbing  the 
upper  precipices  of  the  chalk  slopes,  "a  slip  would 
almost  certainly  prove  fatal,"  he  omits  to  mention  that 
if  not  killed  the  modest  "  passager  "  who  breaks  his 
leg  by  a  slip  from  the  sea-washed  base  is  also  pretty 
certain  to  drown  at  high  tide.  Nor  should  it  be  for- 
gotten that  climbing,  even  on  Cumberland  fells,  is 
perhaps  the  severest  form  of  exercise  known,  and  that 
the  results  of  overstrain  are  almost  equally  dangerous 
with  those  of  a  fall,  when  the  exhilaration  of  mountain 
air  has  led  to  an  overtax  of  a  frame  fresh  from  the 
sedentary  life  of  professional  work. 


282 


THE   YORKSHIRE  FEN 

THE  Yorkshire  Fen  is  less  well-known  than  those 
of  Cambridgeshire  and  Lincolnshire.  Yet  its  history 
is  not  less  interesting,  and  its  present  appearance, 
especially  in  those  parts  which  lie  in  the  narrower 
valleys,  and  were  formerly  arms  of  the  great  marshy 
sea,  is  far  more  picturesque,  owing  to  the  number  of 
woods  and  plantations  which  flourish  on  its  black  and 
rotten  soil.  It  was  the  first  of  all  the  large  fen  areas 
to  be  reclaimed,  and  the  history  of  its  reclamation  is 
one  of  singular  interest.  For  the  details  the  reader 
should  consult  the  life  of  Sir  Cornelius  Vermuylen,  in 
Dr.  Smiles'  Lives  of  the  Engineer  s>  and  the  story  as  told 
by  Abraham  de  la  Pryme,  F.R.S.,  in  the  MS.  History 
of  Hatfield  in  the  British  Museum.  This  is  not  the 
"  Hatfield  "  owned  by  Lord  Salisbury,  but  the  ancient 
fen  of  "Hatfield  Chase,"  which  with  the  Isle  of 
Axholme,  and  the  marshes  lying  between  the  Don, 
Thorne,  Idle,  and  Trent  rivers,  constitutes  the  York- 
shire fen.  Sixty  thousand  acres  of  this  great  tract  were 
drained  by  Cornelius  Vermuylen,  the  Dutch  engineer, 
in  1626,  who  in  two  years  completed  a  task  which 


THE    YORKSHIRE  FEN  283 

a  commission  appointed  to  report  on  its  possibility 
had  declared  impossible.  The  nature  of  the  ground  at 
that  time  may  be  judged  from  the  fact  that  when 
James  I.  visited  the  country  five  hundred  deer  were 
collected  from  the  drier  parts  of  the  fen,  and  made  to 
swim  across  the  waters,  where  they  were  caught  from 
boats.  The  scene  must  have  been  much  like  that  of 
hunting  the  swamp  deer  of  Borneo.  The  local  name 
for  the  upper  levels  of  the  reclamation  is  the  "  Carrs," 
and  each  village  usually  has  attached  to  it  a  part  of 
this  reclamation  which  bears  its  name,  such  as  Loversall 
Carr,  Wad  worth  Carr,  Balby  Carr,  and  others.  The 
portion  with  which  the  writer  is  best  acquainted  is  that 
which  lies  south-west  of  Doncaster,  in  the  valley,  or 
what  is  now  the  valley,  but  was  once  the  marsh,  of  the 
rivers  Thorne  and  Idle.  This  was  an  outlying  branch 
of  the  great  fen,  which  originally  extended  on  the 
north  to  the  river  Humber,  on  the  east  to  the  lowlands 
of  the  Trent,  and  on  the  south  into  Nottinghamshire, 
and  included  the  Isle  of  Axholme,  Thorne  Waste, 
Marshland,  and  the  Fen  of  Hatfield  Chase.  Before 
the  end  of  last  century,  according  to  a  most  interesting 
article  on  this  fen  by  Mr.  Eagle  Clarke,  which  appeared 
in  the  Field  of  November  26,  1887,  there  were  not 
only  vast  numbers  of  duck  breeding  in  the  fen,  but 
in  addition  the  bittern,  rufF,  and  reeve,  the  black- 
tailed  godwit,  the  marsh  harrier,  the  great  crested  grebe, 
and  the  water-rail,  all  bred  commonly  on  the  "  Potterick 
Carr"  above  Doncaster.  In  1762  John  Smeaton,  the 
builder  of  the  Eddystone  Lighthouse,  showed  how  the 


284  THE    YORKSHIRE  FEN 

lingering  surface  waters  might  be  made  to  disappear. 
The  drainage  and  enclosure  of  the  flats,  now  separated 
by  deep  and  impassable  streams,  and  planted  with  wide 
and  enduring  woods  by  private  owners,  extends  a  natural 
protection  to  the  remaining  species  which  still  in  count- 
less numbers  make  the  "  carrs  "  their  home.  In  no 
inland  region  that  the  writer  has  yet  seen  are  the  larger 
birds  found  in  such  astonishing  numbers,  or  so  easily 
observed,  as  in  the  wooded  portions  of  the  "carrs." 
Nor  need  this  be  matter  for  surprise,  where  food,  water, 
shelter,  and  quiet  are  found  over  vast  spaces  of  land. 
The  farms  and  villages  are  far  removed  on  the  higher 
ground,  seated,  as  it  were,  with  their  feet  in  the  quiet 
marshes,  where  breadth  and  solitude  are  broken  only  by 
the  thick  and  silent  woods,  and  the  slow-running  rivers  : 
a  dark  country,  with  dark  skies,  and  trees,  and  waters. 
The  very  mole-hills  are  black,  and  the  dykes  bridged 
by  heart  of  oak,  black  as  coal,  and  dug  from  the  peat 
of  the  fen.  Even  on  the  sound  land  on  the  border  of 
the  marsh,  where  the  ancient  trees  survive,  the  giant 
poplars  which  fringe  the  pools  have  leaves  as  dark  as 
those  on  which  the  vapours  of  invaded  Tartarus  left 
their  mark  for  ever.  Yet,  unlike  most  marsh-lands, 
the  "  carrs "  are  neither  gloomy  nor  deserted.  But 
birds,  not  men,  people  the  flats  ;  and  to  meet  them  the 
visitor  must  keep  early  hours,  and  be  abroad  by  sunrise, 
or  in  summer  a  little  later  ;  for  it  is  possible  to  be  too 
early  for  the  birds,  even  after  day  has  broken,  and  at 
four  o'clock  on  a  summer's  morning  even  they  are 
scarcely  awake.  Here  there  is  no  sudden  leap  of 


THE   YORKSHIRE  FEN  285 

Nature  from  sleep  to  active  and  eager  life  as  in  the 
tropics,  where  the  beginning  and  ending  of  light  and 
darkness  are  as  rapid  as  the  lighting  and  quenching 
of  a  torch,  and  the  hour  of  disappearance  of  the 
creatures  of  night  is  fixed  by  the  quick  and  tyrannous 
invasion  of  the  sun.  The  early  visitor  to  the  stream- 
side  will  surprise  the  wild  ducks  and  herons  before  they 
leave  their  feeding-grounds  for  the  day.  In  that  part 
of  the  "  carrs  "  with  which  the  writer  is  best  acquainted, 
the  heronry  lies  in  the  centre  of  a  thousand-acre  wood, 
from  which  the  birds  sally  in  all  directions  to  hunt  the 
streams  at  night.  In  the  early  morning  their  grey  and 
ghostly  forms  may  be  seen,  as  they  stand  quietly  in  the 
long  meadow-grass,  resting  after  their  night's  fishing, 
or  wading  about  in  the  long,  wet  herbage.  Seen 
among  the  white  and  curling  vapours  which  lie  upon 
the  dripping  aftermath,  they  seem  like  the  spirits  of  the 
fen,  as  they  slowly  spread  their  wings  and  sail  away 
towards  the  sunrise  to  their  sanctuary  beyond  the 
stream.  The  departure  of  the  herons  is  the  signal  for 
a  general  awakening  of  the  main  bird-population  of  the 
"  carrs. "  Though  the  sunbeams  have  scarcely  pene- 
trated the  lower  levels  of  the  mist,  the  tree-tops  in  the 
plantations  are  already  glowing  with  the  morning  rays, 
and  the  noise  of  the  birds  is  astonishing.  The  tree- 
tops  are  full  of  rooks  and  jackdaws,  wood-pigeons  and 
stock-doves  ;  and  like  children,  their  first  impulse  on 
awakening  is  to  chatter.  The  rush  and  clatter  of  wings 
as  the  flocks  leave  the  wood  for  their  feeding-grounds 
is  like  the  sound  of  the  sea,  and  their  numbers  beyond 


286  THE    YORKSHIRE  FEN 

conjecture.  The  fallow  fields,  where  the  roughly 
ploughed  clods  are  dry  and  warm,  are  first  visited,  not 
only  by  the  rooks,  jackdaws,  and  pigeons,  but  also  by 
the  flocks  of  peewits  which  have  been  feeding  all 
night  on  the  wet  marshes.  The  last  come,  not  for 
food,  but,  as  it  seems,  for  rest  and  company,  remaining 
quite  still  and  quiet,  and  apparently  enjoying  the 
warmth  of  the  morning  sun.  But  the  great  flocks  of 
day-feeding  birds  are  eager  in  search  of  food,  the  rooks 
and  jackdaws  prying  beneath  every  clod,  while  the 
pigeons  fly  over  each  other's  backs,  struggling  for  a 
place  in  the  crowd  like  their  tame  relations  in  a 
London  square.  Perhaps  the  latest  birds  to  awaken  to 
the  business  of  the  day  are  the  partridges.  Even  in 
August  the  coveys  do  not  seem  to  move  till  six  o'clock, 
when  they  may  be  heard  calling  and  making  up  their 
minds  to  leave  their  roosting-places  for  the  first-cut 
stubbles.  By  eight  o'clock  in  August  or  September, 
the  birds  have  ceased  feeding,  and  fly  to  the  river  to 
bathe  and  drink,  by  some  common  and  well-understood 
impulse,  which  brings  the  flocks  in  noisy  and  cheerful 
companies  to  the  water-side.  When  coming  down  to 
drink,  their  flight  and  manner  of  approach  is  altogether 
different  from  that  which  marks  their  descent  upon  the 
fallow  fields  which  are  their  morning  feeding-grounds. 
The  serious  business  of  the  day  is  over,  and  they  gO' 
down  to  the  water  in  great  companies  and  processions, 
flying  low  over  the  ground  and  constantly  alighting 
for  a  short  time,  then  rising  and  flying  onwards  with 
much  cawing,  chattering,  and  gossip.  Several  different 


THE    YORKSHIRE  FEN  287 

kinds  unite  in  these  bathing- parties.  On  one  occasion 
the  writer  saw  a  flock  which  must  have  numbered  at 
least  a  thousand  rooks  and  jackdaws  approaching  the 
water  in  this  manner.  With  them  were  scores  of  wood- 
pigeons,  a  flock  of  turtle-doves,  and  a  number  of 
peewits,  all  of  which  flew  or  alighted  at  the  same  time 
in  the  same  direction.  The  stream  was  flowing  rapidly 
and  smoothly  between  high  embankments,  and  it  was 
only  here  and  there  that  the  cattle,  or  some  careless 
weed-cutter,  had  trampled  down  the  edges  sufficiently 
to  make  the  access  to  the  water  easy  for  the  birds.  All 
these  "  bathing  ghats,"  as  we  could  see  by  looking  up 
the  straight  cut  from  behind  the  decayed  stump  of  the 
last  great  tree  that  stood  upon  the  marsh  before  the 
forest  disappeared,  were  occupied  by  crowds  of  rooks 
and  pigeons  drinking  and  bathing,  until  others  came 
down  and  pushed  them  forward  till  they  were  obliged 
to  fly  across  the  stream.  There  they  sat  in  long  rows 
on  the  rails  which  run  by  the  side  of  the  dyke,  drying 
themselves  or  preening  their  feathers,  until  the  whole 
row  of  fencing  was  covered  with  black  lines  of  cawing 
and  chattering  birds.  In  no  long  time  the  water 
brought  down  traces  of  the  bath,  in  the  shape  of 
hundreds  of  floating  feathers,  lightly  cushioned  on  the 
surface  of  the  stream.  Not  even  the  floating  thistle- 
down lies  more  gracefully  on  the  water,  than  do  these 
little  fleets  of  feathers  from  the  morning  toilet  of  the 
birds,  the  crisp  and  curling  black  plumes  from  the  breast 
of  rook  and  jackdaw  sailing  by  like  fairy  gondolas,  while 
here  and  there  a  feather  from  a  pigeon's  wing,  with  a 


288  THE    YORKSHIRE  FEN 

drop  of  water  for  ballast  in  its  curve,  catches  the  wind 
at  every  gust,  and  sails  among  the  lesser  craft  and 
dances  on  the  ripples  like  some  miniature  yacht. 

The  pheasants  and  partridges  also  visit  the  stream  to 
drink,  though  not  to  bathe.  Hidden  near  one  of  their 
favourite  drinking-places,  the  writer  has  more  than 
once  observed  the  care  and  anxiety  which  the  wild 
pheasant  exhibits  when  bringing  her  brood  to  the  water. 
Men  are  so  rarely  seen  upon  the  "  carrs,"  that  her  fears 
must  be  due,  not  to  the  danger  from  human  interference, 
but  to  the  attacks  of  the  hawks  and  magpies,  foxes  and 
stoats,  which  enjoy  almost  the  same  freedom  from 
disturbance  as  the  other  wild  creatures  of  the  fen.  The 
pheasants  invariably  approach  the  stream  from  a  wood 
near  by  a  long  hedgerow,  which  runs  down  to  the  water, 
and  gives  complete  protection  from  winged  enemies. 
The  old  bird  then  ascends  the  bank,  and  after  some 
moments  spent  in  surveying  the  neighbourhood  with 
head  erect  and  motionless,  she  descends  and  drinks, 
raising  her  head  like  a  fowl  after  each  draught.  A  low 
call  then  summons  the  brood,  who  descend  in  turn, 
while  the  old  bird  once  more  mounts  guard.  If  dis- 
turbed, the  whole  brood  run  into  the  fence,  with  a 
speed  and  silence  more  to  be  expected  from  some  nimble 
four-footed  animal  than  in  a  bold  and  strong-flying 
bird  like  the  wild  pheasant.  The  partridges,  on  the 
contrary,  drink  at  the  most  open  spots,  flying  in  a  body 
with  much  noise  and  calling  to  the  waters,  and  returning 
as  hastily  when  their  thirst  is  satisfied.  By  nine  o'clock 
the  "carrs"  are  almost  deserted  by  the  birds.  The 


THE    YORKSHIRE  FEN  289 

pheasants  are  in  the  corn,  or  hidden  in  the  plantations. 
Rooks,  jackdaws,  and  pigeons  have  flown  far  up  into 
the  cultivated  ground,  the  plovers  have  followed  them, 
the  herons  are  asleep  in  the  thick  woods,  before  the 
shepherd  drives  his  flock  to  feed  on  the  drying  grasses 
of  the  fen. 

In  the  great  frosts  the  running  streams  which  flow 
from  the  upper  ground  into  the  "  carrs  "  are  an  almost 
certain  haunt  of  wild-duck,  and  the  writer  was  for  many 
years  accustomed  to  visit  the  fen  before  breakfast,  when 
the  only  light  was  the  topaz  glow  in  the  sky  before  the 
winter  dawn,  and  the  moon  had  a  planet  opposite  its 
curve,  as  bright  as  that  which  shone  when  the  Turks 
stormed  the  city  of  Constantine.  The  way  to  the  fen  lay 
along  the  side  of  a  wood,  below  a  park  in  which  warm 
springs  rose  from  the  limestone  almost  at  the  edge  of  the 
flat.  No  frost,  even  those  recently  experienced,  ever 
froze  this  "dyke,"  to  which  the  contrast  of  green  weeds, 
running  water,  and,  in  such  weather,  clouds  of  warm 
vapour  rolling  from  the  surface,  gave  an  almost  tropical 
appearance,  while  all  the  ground  round  was  crusted  with 
snow  and  frost  needles.  The  rush  and  flutter  of  the 
water-hens  in  the  thick  rushes,  the  thin  dry  sound  of  the 
reeds  as  they  rustled  and  bent  in  the  cold  morning 
gusts,  and  the  darkness  of  the  wood  which  fringed  one 
side  of  the  water,  made  this  one  of  the  most  unusual 
scenes  I  have  ever  met  with  in  English  cultivated 
districts.  A  brook  below  was  the  favourite  haunt  of 
the  duck,  which  fed  in  the  warm  dyke  by  night,  and 

then  lay  in  the  brook  which  was  still  more  removed 

u 


29o  THE    YORKSHIRE  FEN 

from  the  ordinary  paths  of  the  labourers  on  the  farms. 
In  the  half-light  every  splash  of  a  water-rat  or  rail 
suggested  the  immediate  rise  of  duck  ;  and  when  they 
did  fly  up  from  the  deep  brook,  sometimes  in  a  flock 
of  from  eight  to  a  dozen,  over-anxiety  and  the  dusky 
light  often  made  the  shooting  less  straight  than  it 
should  have  been.  By  the  time  the  true  "  carrs  "  were 
reached  the  sun  was  well  risen,  and  the  view  across  the 
flat  "  line  landscape  "  with  its  level  waste  of  snow,  long 
black  lines  of  dyke,  and  straight  walls  of  trees  fringing 
the  distance  was  very  striking.  The  drains  and  rivers 
were  almost  without  bridges  ;  there  are  no  more  roads 
than  when  the  marsh  was  impassable,  and  the  farm- 
houses and  villages  to  which  the  "  carrs  "  are  annexed 
lie  far  away.  Consequently  there  are  neither  men 
nor  houses  on  the  marsh,  and  the  early  visitor  is 
absolutely  alone.  When  the  duck  had  been  dis- 
turbed in  the  higher  levels  of  the  "  carrs,"  it  was  not 
unusual  to  see  a  "  wedge  "  flying  steadily  down  the  fen, 
seeking  open  water  in  the  main  river.  This  was  an 
exciting  moment,  for  if  they  pitched,  owing  to  the  high 
banks,  a  shot  was  certain.  On  one  occasion  the  writer 
and  another  watched  seven  duck  come  down  the  level, 
and  suddenly  descend  into  the  river  where  it  is  joined 
by  the  brook.  Here  there  is  always  open  water  even 
in  hard  frost,  and  the  duck  will  even  lie  in  the  rough 
grass  in  the  angle  between  the  streams. 

"  Ille  terrarum  mihi  praeter  omnes 
Angulus  videt." 


THE    YORKSHIRE  FEN  291 

It  is  a  favourite  corner.  We  crept  up  to  the  place. 
Thirteen  fine  wild-duck  rose,  for  a  previous  party  had 
evidently  acted  unconsciously  the  part  of  "  decoys,"  and 
three  were  shot.  One,  a  beautiful  drake,  fell  across  the 
stream,  which  was  deep,  and  icy  cold.  Local  knowledge 
here  came  in  usefully  ;  a  sheep-trough  on  wheels  was 
fetched  and  run  out  into  the  water,  and  with  the  pier 
so  made,  and  the  aid  of  the  shepherd's  crook,  the  fine 
mallard  was  secured. 

Mr.  Eagle  Clarke,  in  the  interesting  paper  referred 
to  above,  has  given  a  history  of  an  ancient  duck  decoy 
about  three-quarters  of  a  mile  from  the  junction  of  the 
St.  Catherine's  brook  and  the  river  Thorne,  which  was 
owned  by  the  Corporation  of  Doncaster.  He  thinks  it 
probable  that  Sir  Cornelius  Vermuylen's  Dutchmen,  who 
settled  on  the  reclamation,  first  introduced  the  art  of 
decoy-making  into  England.  The  decoy  on  these 
"  carrs  "  "dates  from  at  least  as  early  as  the  year  1657, 
when  it  was  either  erected  or  acquired  by  the  corporation 
of  Doncaster  as  an  investment  for  certain  moneys 
intrusted  to  it  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor.  It  is  curious 
that  in  the  very  earliest  days  of  decoys  in  England  we 
should  thus  find  a  public  body  selecting  such  an 
innovation  as  an  investment."  Mr.  Clarke  supposes 
that  the  success  of  the  Dutch  in  other  decoys  in  the 
Yorkshire  fen  encouraged  the  Doncaster  corporation  to 
construct  one.  In  any  case  they  devoted  two  sums  of 
£100  and  ,£60,  money  left  for  the  poor,  to  making  the 
decoy,  and  made  a  special  embankment  of  over  three- 
quarters  of  a  mile  in  length,  still  called  "  Decoy  Bank," 


292  THE    YORKSHIRE  FEN 

to  reach  it.  The  decoy  pond  was  circular,  with  six 
acres  and  a  half  of  water  and  six  "pipes."  In  1662  it 
was  let  for  twenty-one  years  at  an  annual  rent  of  £15 
— not  a  bad  return  on  a  capital  of  £  1 60.  But  in  1 707 
the  rent  had  fallen  to  £3.  Yet  there  must  have  been 
plenty  of  wild-fowl  still  upon  the  "carr."  Smeaton  did 
not  complete  the  drainage  till  after  1762  ;  and  the 
lessee  of  1707  made  a  specialty  of  catching  pochards — 
one  of  the  best  ducks  for  the  table,  though  not  often 
seen  in  English  poultry-shops  at  this  date — by  means 
of  nets  which  were  raised  by  pulleys  on  poles  after  the 
pochards  had  settled  on  the  water. 

The  last  decoy-man  died  in  1794,  and  all  the  pipes 
were  in  existence  in  1778.  Now  the  Great  Northern 
railway  runs  straight  through  what  was  the  decoy  ;  part 
of  the  wood  which  surrounded  it  remains,  but  few 
visitors  from  London  to  Doncaster  imagine  that  just 
as  they  approach  the  busy  town  they  are  running 
through  the  site  of  the  old  corporation  decoy.  But 
south  of  the  line  the  "  carrs  "  are  still  secluded,  solitary, 
and  a  very  paradise  for  birds.  Mr.  Clarke's  interesting 
and  full  account  of  the  archaeology  of  wild-fowling  in 
the  district  should  be  read  by  all  who  know  the 
Yorkshire  fen  as  it  is,  and  would  like  to  picture  what 
it  has  been. 


293 


DUCK-SHOOTING   IN   A   GALE 

THE  wind  was  sweeping  across  the  great  level  of  the 
Humber  valley,  tearing  slates  from  the  barn  roofs, 
twisting  up  the  rick  thatches,  and  whirling  loose  straw 
and  rubbish  from  stackyard  to  field,  while  squalls  of 
rain  and  sleet  or  driving  hail  sent  everything  that  had 
legs  or  wings  to  covert  and  shelter.  As  I  was  walking 
out  between  the  showers,  I  was  hailed  by  the  shepherd, 
riding  up  on  the  battered  old  horse  which  he  has  the  use 
of  when  the  flock  is  far  afield,  from  a  visit  to  his  sheep 
in  the  marshes.  A  fresh-flayed  fleece  flung  across  the 
saddle  in  front  of  him,  the  wool  inside  against  his  thighs, 
with  the  red  exterior  presented  to  view,  showed  that  at 
least  one  of  his  flock  had  succumbed  to  the  rigours  of 
the  night.  But  it  was  not  to  give  news  of  his  sheep 
that  he  smote  the  old  horse  with  the  hedge-stake  in  his 
hand  and  jogged  across  the  path  to  address  me.  "  Eh," 
he  said,  "ye  suld  ha'  been  wi'  me  an  hour  back  wi' 
your  double-barril  goon.  Such  a  sight  o'  dook  !  I 
believe  there  wur  forty  came  over  me  and  pitched  in 
the  drain  by  the  black  wood,  and  t'  dyke  is  fair  wick 
(alive)  wi'  'em.  They'll  be  come  some  way,  I'm 


294  THE    YORKSHIRE  FEN 

thinking,  for  they  made  nought  of  me,  but  just  settled 
and  bided  where  they  were." 

Though  this  sounded  rather  like  exaggeration,  it 
seemed,  on  reflection,  likely  enough  that  the  storm  had 
brought  duck  into  the  "  carrs."  Flights  of  plover, 
pigeons,  gulls,  and  fieldfares  had  been  passing  all  day, 
and  no  doubt  the  duck  on  the  large  pieces  of  water  in 
the  neighbourhood  would  find  them  rough  resting- 
places,  while  shore-loving  widgeon  and  teal  might  well 
have  shifted  inland.  The  great  flats,  though  drained 
and  in  places  cultivated,  were  once  a  paradise  for  fowl, 
and  in  the  particular  corner  in  which  I  was,  the  quiet 
dykes  and  drains  were  in  many  places  bordered  by  tall 
plantations,  and  fringed  by  deep  beds  of  reeds  and 
bulrushes.  In  some,  where  the  water  hardly  ever 
freezes,  duck  may  be  found  at  all  hours  in  a  hard  frost. 
At  any  rate  it  seemed  worth  trying,  so  unchaining  an 
old  half  retriever,  half  water  spaniel,  and  putting  on  a 
covert-coat,  comforter,  and  cap  with  flaps  to  keep  the 
rain  out  of  my  ears,  I  started  for  the  "  carrs."  At  the 
bottom  of  the  park,  where  the  flat  land  begins,  a  stream 
bubbles  up,  and  flows  by  the  side  of  a  dark  plantation 
for  half-a-mile  before  joining  one  of  the  drains  of  the 
"  carr."  The  water  seems  to  be  warm,  for  all  through  the 
winter  cresses  and  other  green  weeds  grow  there,  and  in 
a  hard  frost  the  steam  may  be  seen  rising  from  it  like 
smoke.  Naturally,  it  is  a  favourite  feeding  ground  at 
night,  and  to-day  was  more  than  likely  to  give  a  shot. 
The  wind  was  howling  so  loud  through  the  tree-tops 
that  even  the  wary  moor-hens  failed  to  hear  my  steps, 


DUCK-SHOOTING  IN  A    GALE  295 

and  hurried  off  alarmed  to  bury  themselves  in  the  thick 
reeds  on  the  opposite  bank,  but  for  some  time  I  saw  no 
duck.  Presently  I  approached  a  favourite  spot,  never 
more  likely  than  in  a  storm.  Here  the  stream  is  joined 
by  a  smaller  rill,  and  the  two  form  a  deep  circular  pool, 
sheltered  partly  by  the  plantation  and  partly  by  a  thick 
clump  of  black  poplars  on  the  neck  between  the  streams, 
whose  gnarled  and  twisted  stems  look  like  those  in 
the  foreground  of  some  picture  by  Poussin,  and  form  a 
remarkable  feature  in  the  flat  landscape.  Slipping  up 
between  the  poplar  stems,  I  peered  over  towards  the 
pool.  A  dozen  duck  were  swimming  across  to  the  far 
side,  evidently  uneasy,  but  loth  to  move.  Just  as  I  saw 
them  they  saw  me,  and  rose.  The  noise  in  the  branches 
was  so  great  that  I  could  hear  nothing  of  their  clatter, 
but  I  fired  into  the  thick  of  them  and  got  two,  and  sent 
a  third  away  hard  hit,  for  so  quickly  did  the  wind  take 
them  that  the  last  bird  put  fifteen  yards  further  between 
us  than  he  would  on  an  ordinary  day.  I  watched  the 
struck  bird,  and  saw  him  fall  about  300  yards  further 
down  the  dyke  ;  so,  picking  up  the  first  brace,  and 
tying  their  heads  together,  I  hung  them  across  a  bough 
in  the  plantation,  and  proceeded  down  the  dyke.  More 
moor-hens  and  a  solitary  coot  were  all  that  I  saw  for 
some  time.  Meantime  the  gale  increased,  and  the 
stinging  hail  beat  down  like  shot,  rebounding  from  the 
gun-barrels,  and  making  the  old  dog  whimper  and  poke 
her  head  between  my  legs  for  shelter  as  I  stopped  and 
turned  my  back  to  the  blast. 

Then  it  lulled,  and  as  I  walked  on,  my  dog,  who  had 


296  THE    YORKSHIRE  FEN 

been  longing  to  go  in  and  beat  the  reeds,  splashed  in, 
and  in  a  minute  a  teal  rose  and  flew  low  across  the 
meadow.  He  fell,  and  at  the  shot  a  second  rose  also  ; 
but  wild,  and  I  failed  to  get  him.  Then  came  a  con- 
tretemps. We  had  arrived  at  about  the  place  where 
the  wounded  duck  had  fallen,  and  after  some  hunting 
in  the  reeds,  which  the  furious  wind  was  bending  and 
beating  almost  level  with  the  water,  the  old  dog 
emerged  with  a  splendid  mallard  in  her  mouth.  The 
bird  was  alive,  and  I  had  some  difficulty  in  giving  him 
his  quietus,  which  the  dog  took  advantage  of  to  hunt 
down  the  stream  on  her  own  account.  Turning  round 
to  pick  up  my  gun,  I  saw,  for  I  could  hear  nothing  for 
the  noise  of  the  wind  in  the  branches,  first  three  and 
then  five  duck  rise  and  drift  away  before  the  wind. 
Then  the  dog  came  sneaking  back,  looking  ashamed  of 
herself,  as  she  deserved.  This  brought  us  to  the  end  of 
the  stream  which  we  had  been  hunting,  and  we  were 
now  upon  the  "  carrs  "  themselves.  Here,  away  from 
the  shelter  of  the  belt  of  trees,  the  full  force  of  the 
gale  was  apparent ;  and  it  seemed  pretty  certain  that 
any  duck  there  might  be  there  would  be  in  the  dykes 
which  ran  at  right  angles  to  the  direction  of  the  wind, 
and  not  in  those  which  were  swept  lengthwise  by  its 
full  force.  The  main  stream  was  that  which  bounded 
the  property,  and  was  in  most  parts  exposed,  though 
here  and  there  was  a  bend  which  seemed  worth  trying. 
Accordingly,  I  made  directly  across  the  "  carr  "  to  one  of 
these  spots,  tramping,  with,  my  hands  in  my  pockets 
and  head  bent  down,  across  the  wet  tussocky  pastures, 


DUCK-SHOOTING  IN  A    GALE  297 

whence  the  big  Lincolnshire  sheep  had  been  driven  by 
the  gale  to  huddle  beneath  the  stacks  of  coarse,  stemmy 
hay.  On  my  way  I  kicked  up  a  hare,  and  was  stupid 
enough  to  shoot  him  ;  an  awkward  load  at  the  best  of 
times,  this  one  was  doubly  so,  for  I  had  not  a  large 
game  bag,  and  so  tied  his  legs  together  and  hung  him 
to  the  strap  of  my  cartridge  bag.  With  this  animal 
bumping  against  my  thighs,  I  cautiously  approached 
the  first  bend,  but  it  held  nothing.  The  next  held  a 
single  duck,  which  fell  an  easy  shot,  but  on  the  further 
bank.  The  dog,  however,  made  up  her  mind  that  it 
was  in  the  water,  and  it  was  at  least  five  minutes  before 
I  could  get  her  to  mount  the  further  bank  and  search. 
Then  she  dropped  it  in  the  stream  and  refused  to  take 
any  further  notice  of  it  ;  consequently,  I  had  to  coast 
along  by  the  bank  watching  it  drift,  until  it  should 
please  chance  to  put  it  my  side  of  the  stream,  if  it  did 
not  stick  on  the  other.  Just  as  I  was  thinking  of 
giving  up  the  duck  the  dog  changed  her  mind,  and, 
jumping  in,  retrieved  it. 

About  500  yards  lower,  the  drain  made  a  sudden 
twist,  beyond  which  was  an  old  stump,  the  remains  of 
one  of  the  great  trees  which  seem  once  to  have  covered 
this  curious  country  ;  at  any  rate,  the  plough  constantly 
strikes  on  trunks,  often  of  oak  or  yew,  more  or  less 
sound,  in  such  parts  of  the  "  carrs  "  as  farmers  choose  to 
plough. 

Though  there  is  nothing,  to  judge  by  appearances,  to 
make  this  part  of  the  straight  uninteresting  drain  more 
attractive  to  duck  than  any  other,  the  neighbourhood 


298  THE    YORKSHIRE  FEN 

of  this  old  stump,  worn  smooth  and  polished  by  the 
rubbing  of  generations  of  cattle,  is  a  favourite  place 
with  them,  and  I  crept  up  full  of  hope.  But  I  was  not 
to  succeed.  The  duck  were  there,  but  some  fifty  yards 
to  the  left  of  their  usual  place,  and  thirteen  rose  just 
out  of  shot,  and  flew  down  stream,  disturbing  a  pair 
and  a  single  bird  on  their  way. 

This  was  dreadfully  disappointing,  but  there  was  still 
another  chance.  At  the  very  end  of  the  estate  is  a 
plantation  of  about  fifteen  acres,  by  the  side  of  which 
for  some  eighty  yards  runs  a  tolerably  wide  drain.  It 
was  not  on  the  sheltered  side,  but  there  seemed  a 
possibility  of  finding  birds  there,  especially  as  some  of 
those  I  had  sent  on  had  wheeled,  and  shown  an  inclin- 
ation to  alight.  One  or  two  herons  flapped  away  from 
the  trees  as  I  came  up,  with  their  noisy  croaking  cry, 
but  as  the  wind  was  from  the  dyke  to  them  it  did  not 
matter. 

Passing  through  the  plantation  was  rather  nervous 
work.  The  trees,  tall  and  spindly,  most  of  them  spruce 
firs  and  ashes,  were  ill  rooted  in  the  loose,  rotten,  peaty 
soil,  and  more  than  one  had  fallen  during  the  day,  not 
broken,  but  uprooted.  However,  I  made  my  way 
through  the  tangled  growth  of  unhealthy,  green-looking 
brambles  and  white  shimmering  reeds,  and  looking 
through  a  screen  of  the  latter,  which  grew  on  the  dyke 
side, — I  was  a  little  above  the  water, — I  saw  not  wild-duck 
proper,  but  a  small  flock  of  widgeon  swimming  about 
forty  yards  to  the  right.  Pulling  in  the  dog,  and 
giving  her  a  small  cufF  by  way  of  admonition,  I  stepped 


DUCK-SHOOTING  IN  A    GALE  299 

back  into  the  wood,  and  crept  carefully  up  to  the  bank 
again  ;  I  had  hoped  to  get  a  sitting  shot,  for  the  noise 
of  the  wind  drowned  any  that  I  made.  But,  as  I  was 
within  a  few  yards  of  where  I  hoped  to  shoot  from,  they 
sprung  up — there  must  have  been  thirteen  or  fourteen 
— and  drifted  back  over  the  wood.  My  first  barrel 
missed,  but  the  second  brought  one  down  with  a  crash 
into  the  brambles  behind,  whence  I  extracted  him,  stone 
dead.  The  widgeon  must  have  come  inland  from  the 
sea,  for  the  surf  mark  was  on  the  breast  of  the  bird 
shot.  He  was  in  excellent  condition,  and  storm,  not 
hunger,  must  have  brought  them  inland. 

It  was  a  weary  trudge  back,  soaking  wet,  with  the 
wind  cutting  through  damp  clothes,  and  the  hare  was 
a  gruesome  object,  more  like  a  drowned  cat  than  a 
smart  jack  hare,  when  I  arrived  at  home.  But  the 
duck  were  an  ample  reward.  One  lesson  to  be  drawn 
from  the  experience  of  the  day  is  that,  in  a  widely 
distributed  storm,  affecting  large  areas  of  land  and  sea, 
it  is  worth  while  to  take  a  walk  in  the  marshes. 


3°° 


IS  COUNTRY  LIFE  STILL  POSSIBLE? 

To  ask  if  country  life  is  still  possible  may  seem  mere 
paradox.  That  every  sound-minded  Englishman  is  at 
heart  a  countryman,  has  been  for  so  long  a  fixed  idea 
that  we  have  hardly  realized  that  what  was  once  the 
inborn  bias  of  a  nation  has  perhaps  dwindled  to  a 
sentiment.  There  are  good  grounds  for  thinking  that 
the  old  belief  (to  which  we  would  still  most  gladly 
cling)  was  based  on  fact,  and  not  on  fancy.  Lord 
Burleigh's  axiom,  that  "  he  who  sells  an  acre  of  land 
sells  an  ounce  of  credit,"  was  respected  long  enough  to 
become  a  guarantee  for  its  transmission.  Men  who 
made  fortunes,  large  or  small,  clung  to  the  habit  of 
investing  them  in  land,  and  their  sons,  to  whom  they 
left  their  "  money  " — that  is,  their  land — were  brought 
up  to  live  on  it,  and  there  learnt  that  strong  love  for 
country  life  which  seems  almost  inseparable  from  early 
association  with  the  soil.  They  were  countrymen  in 
the  best  sense,  and  knew  how  to  reap  the  most  conscious 
and  complete  enjoyment  which  their  manner  of  life 
could  afford.  Of  the  general  tendency  of  a  nation, 
there  is  no  quicker  judge  than  an  intelligent  foreigner  ; 


IS   COUNTRY  LIFE   STILL  POSSIBLE?       301 

and  even  so  late  as  M.  Taine's  first  visit  to  England, 
his  diagnosis  of  the  end  proposed  to  himself  by  the 
average  successful  Englishman — namely,  the  possession 
of  a  country  estate,  with  the  social  and  political  prestige 
which  it  conferred — was  probably  not  wide  of  the  truth. 
The  change  had  already  begun,  but  not  for  the  gener- 
ation with  which  M.  Taine  was  probably  most  in 
contact  during  his  visit.  For  most  of  them,  "  modern 
life  "  had  begun  too  late  to  destroy  the  tradition  of  the 
past.  Those  of  his  hosts  who  were  engaged  in  com- 
merce, probably  took  as  it  came  the  huge  rush  of 
"  business  "  of  the  first  half  of  the  present  reign,  with 
its  rapid  increase  of  wealth,  its  bustle  and  excitement, 
and  wisely  made  the  most  of  it.  But  their  ideas  of 
leisure  were  those  of  their  fathers.  The  form  which 
their  enjoyment  of  that  leisure  should  take  was  deter- 
mined by  the  ideals  of  their  youth.  When  the  money 
was  made  and  the  time  came  to  enjoy  it,  they  bought 
estates,  or  added  new  acres  to  the  old  ones,  settled  down 
naturally  to  country  interests  and  country  sports,  the 
taste  for  which  had  been  early  formed  ;  and  shook  off 
the  dust  of  the  City  without  regret.  There  was  no 
cause  for  them  to  feel  ennui  or  isolation,  for  they 
merely  exchanged  one  set  of  occupations  for  another, 
with  which  early  associations  made  them  not  unfitted. 
They  did  not  leave  affairs  to  dawdle  through  the 
morning  with  the  Times,  or  potter  with  vineries  and 
early  asparagus,  but  found  work  in  the  management  of 
their  property  and  amusement  in  field-sports,  or  more 
rarely  in  the  observation  of  the  wild  life  which  ur- 
rounded  them.  In  the  last,  they  renewed  their  youth  ; 


302       IS   COUNTRY  LIFE  STILL  POSSIBLE? 

in  the  first,  they  found  employment  for  the  energies  of 
maturity. 

But  though  this  reaction  towards  the  country  was 
partly  due  to  early  sentiment,  it  must  be  remembered 
that  London  life  was  then  infinitely  dull  for  the  busy 
man,  and  especially  so  for  the  "  business  man."  Office- 
hours  were  much  longer,  and  holidays  very  rare  and 
short.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Gilpin's 

"  Twice  ten  tedious  years  that  we 
No  holiday  have  seen," 

was  the  common  experience  not  only  of  decent  trades- 
folk like  the  hero  of  the  ride  to  Edmonton,  but  of 
merchants  and  professional  men  of  standing.  We  were 
told  by  the  head  of  an  old  City  business,  who  is  now, 
excellent  man,  enjoying  his  country  house  in  old  English 
fashion,  that  the  first  day  on  which  he  so  far  complied 
with  modern  habits  as  to  take  a  "  half-holiday "  on 
Saturday,  he  made  bold  to  go  so  far  as  Hampstead 
Heath ;  and  when  there,  was  so  overcome  by  the 
enormity  of  the  thing  he  had  done,  that  he  went  back 
to  his  office,  though  he  knew  that  he  should  find  it  shut 
up,  and  his  younger  employes  taking  their  holiday 
without  any  scruples  of  conscience.  Again,  we  still 
recall  the  memory  of  two  old  partners  in  a  leading  firm 
of  solicitors,  whose  sole  form  of  enjoyment  for  twenty 
years  was  a  solemn  drive  round  the  Park  together  in  a 
yellow  chariot  at  half-past  six,  as  a  preliminary  to 
dinner,  whist,  and  bed.  There  was  little  or  no  mixing 
with  other  men  and  other  interests  ;  no  journalists  or 
artists  to  chat  with  ;  no  mixture  of  the  leisured  class 


SS  COUNTRY  LIFE  STILL  POSSIBLE?       303 

with  the  busy  class  ;  no  "  society "  for  the  business 
man.  If  he  wanted  a  change,  and  a  chance  of  meeting 
fresh  ideas  in  others,  "  e'en  from  the  peasant  to  the 
lord,"  he  could  only  find  it  in  the  country  ;  and  to  the 
country  he  went. 

That  neither  of  the  two  causes  which  mainly  kept  up 
the  old  English  taste  for  the  country  retain  their  old 
force,  is  certain,  though  the  effect  of  their  gradual 
weakening  is  curiously  sudden.  Early  association 
certainly  has  less  hold  on  the  imagination  of  the  present 
generation  than  it  had  on  their  predecessors,  mainly 
because  it  is  allowed  so  little  time  to  act  before  it  is 
supplanted  by  rival  interests.  When  the  author  of 
Tom  Browns  Schooldays  complained  that  "  young 
England  "  did  not  know  their  own  lanes  and  fields  and 
hedges,  he  found  a  reason  in  the  "  globe-trotting  spirit  " 
which  sent  young  men  abroad  travelling,  instead  of 
returning  to  the  old  country  haunts.  By  a  curious 
irony,  the  later  chapters  of  his  book,  in  which  the 
author  has  so  vividly  painted  the  delights  of  organized 
athletics,  have  appealed  so  powerfully  to  "  young 
England,"  that,  with  our  usual  instinct  for  doing  one 
thing  with  all  our  might,  games  of  every  kind  have  not 
only  in  a  great  measure  supplanted  the  old  interest  in 
wild  life,  but  even  threaten  to  rival  the  taste  for  field- 
sports  which  once  seemed  innate  in  every  Englishman. 
To  be  able  to  ride  fairly,  to  throw  a  fly,  and  to  shoot 
with  some  skill  himself,  and  without  danger  to  his 
neighbours,  were  the  common  accomplishments  of  an 
English  gentleman.  Excellence  at  cricket,  tennis,  and 
golf  are  now  more  important  social  qualifications  ;  and 


3o4       IS   COUNTRY  LIFE  STILL  POSSIBLE? 

if  "young  England"  has  a  marked  taste  for  riding 
anything,  it  is  probably  the  safety-bicycle.  Organized 
athletics  do  not  flourish  in  the  country  nearly  so  well  as 
in  a  London  suburb  or  a  fashionable  watering-place. 
But  these  counter-attractions  are  mainly,  though  not 
wholly,  for  young  men  and — it  must  not  be  forgotten 
—for  young  ladies.  Later,  the  disabilities  of  country 
life,  and  the  necessity  of  the  hourly  fillip  given  to  the 
mind  by  close  and  easy  contact  with  the  executive  centre 
of  the  world  at  Westminster  and  the  financial  centre  in 
Capel  Court,  become  more  and  more  imperious.  To 
the  man  who  has  really  been  engaged  in  affairs,  the 
mere  perusal  of  the  morning  papers  is  a  poor  substitute 
for  the  day-long  possibilities  of  telegrams  and  special 
editions.  Even  if  he  secures  a  constant  supply  of 
"  news,"  he  wants  the  right  people  with  whom  to  talk 
it  over.  In  London,  he  can  generally  find  the  man  he 
wants.  In  the  country  he  is  often  at  a  loss  to  find  a 
kindred  spirit  with  whom  to  discuss  subjects  unconnected 
with  the  petty  interests  of  rural  life.  Hence  the  country 
house  tends  to  become  a  mere  annex  to  the  town 
establishment,  reserved  for  brief  intervals  devoted  to 
recovery  from  town  life. 

But  rest,  repose,  and  beauty  are  not  the  only  enjoy- 
ments which  rural  life  has  to  offer.  The  country  is  not 
solely  a  playground  and  a  sanatorium,  a  tame  and 
temporary  recruiting-ground  after  the  excitements,  great 
or  little,  of  the  town.  Even  its  beauty  may  pall  and 
fade,  as  Wordsworth  found,  and  Mr.  Ruskin  has 
confessed,  unless  the  conditions  which  make  country 
life  possible  are  better  understood  than  they  are  by  some 


IS  COUNTRY  LIFE  STILL  POSSIBLE?       305 

of  those  who  have  tried  it  and  failed.  Now,  the  first 
of  these  conditions  is  that  we  should  really  live  there, 
and  not  make  the  country  house  a  mere  basis  and  depot 
for  excursions  elsewhere,  but  make  it,  in  the  true  sense 
of  the  word,  a  home.  If  this  be  established,  it  is 
wonderful  how  quickly  the  accessories  of  rural  happiness 
group  themselves  round  it.  To  one  who  has  known  a 
country  home,  any  other  seems  but  a  dim  and  distant 
shadow  of  that  reality.  Town  life  is  only  a  huge 
co-operative  society  where  we  all  subscribe  to  pay  jointly 
for  cabs,  horses,  gardens,  and  the  rest. 

But  the  country  house  must  be  self-supporting  ;  and 
it  is  in  the  provision  and  maintenance  of  such  accessories 
as  it  requires,  that  one  of  the  chief  interests  of  the 
country  life  is  to  be  found.  "  Live  not  in  the  country 
without  corn  and  cattle  about  you,"  says  Lord  Bur- 
leigh  ;  and  in  the  well-ordered  country  house,  animals 
which  in  town  are  often  useless  pets  or  mere  machines 
for  locomotion,  not  only  "justify  their  existence"  by 
the  share  which  they  contribute  to  the  comfort  of  the 
establishment,  but  generally  manage  to  assert  a  separate 
and  amusing  individuality  which  seldom  fails  to  exact 
due  consideration  from  master  and  men.  As  for  the 
dogs  and  riding-horses,  whose  share  in  country  sports  is 
as  personal  as  that  of  their  owner,  there  is  no  limit  to 
the  interest  which  their  training  and  well-being  may 
afford  to  a  skilful  and  sympathetic  master,  or  to  the 
return  of  cleverness  and  affection  which  their  simpler 
natures  are  willing  to  make. 

Now,  the  welfare  of  horses,  cattle,  dogs,  chickens, 
and  pigeons,  not  to  mention  the  pigs,  which,  if  over- 


306      IS   COUNTRY  LIFE  STILL  POSSIBLE? 

looked  by  the  masters,  are  generally  very  dear  to  the 
servants,  is  a  thing  not  lightly  to  be  trusted  to  subor- 
dinates without  supervision  ;  and  it  is  not  too  much  to 
say  that  if  all  these  are  to  thrive  and  be  happy — and 
there  is  no  more  depressing  sight  round  a  country  house 
than  sick  and  ailing  animals — the  master  may  rise  at 
half-past  six,  and  still  feel  that  by  eight  o'clock  break- 
fast he  has  not  done  more  than  the  supervision  of  his 
animal  dependents  requires.  It  is  only  too  common  in 
country  houses  to  see  hungry  horses  and  cattle  and 
famished  poultry,  which  ought  to  have  been  fed  at  six, 
and  are  kept  without  food  till  eight  by  the  neglect  of 
careless  servants.  Besides  the  welfare  of  the  animals, 
this  early  rising  offers  two  other  "  compensations  for 
disturbance," — health,  and  the  beauty  of  the  garden, 
which  is  never  so  lovely  as  in  the  early  morning,  when 
the  flowers  seem  half-asleep,  and  all  the  wild  birds  in  it 
are  tame  and  confiding.  Never,  since  the  great  revival 
in  Queen  Elizabeth's  days,  has  the  garden  had  a  greater 
store  of  pleasure  to  offer  than  now,  when  all  good 
flowers,  old  and  new,  are  cultivated  and  cherished  for 
their  single  and  separate  beauty,  instead  of  being 
banished  to  distant  borders  to  make  way  for  curly 
cactuses  and  paths  of  pounded  brick.  The  garden  is 
the  one  pleasure  of  country  life  which  stands  unques- 
tioned and  alone  ;  it  is  a  pleasure  which  never  palls, 
which  makes  demands  upon  our  time  rather  than  our 
purse,  and  is  dearer  to  women  even  than  to  men. 
From  March  till  October  the  flowers  last,  from  the  first 
tulip  that  raises  the  signal  of  spring  to  the  last  Michael- 
mas daisies  drenched  with  autumn  dew.  In  the  late 


IS   COUNTRY  LIFE  STILL  POSSIBLE?       307 

autumn  mornings  the  garden  is  perhaps  dearer  than 
ever,  when  the  squirrels  are  collecting  nuts,  and  the 
rooks,  which  have  been  stealing  walnuts  since  dawn, 
are  cawing  as  contentedly  as  if  they  had  gained  their 
breakfast  honestly,  and  the  late  autumn  flowers  linger, 
not  as  part  of  the  chain  of  production,  but  as  gracious 
things  in  themselves,  with  nothing  to  offer  us  but  their 
beauty. 

The  garden  is  ill-stocked  which  provides  only  flowers 
and  fruits.  With  due  management,  there  is  hardly 
any  limit  to  the  birds  and  animals  which  will  freely  and 
gladly  haunt  the  lawns  and  shrubberies  of  a  country 
house.  The  modern  Eden  should  be  a  home  for 
animals  as  well  as  plants,  and  the  lawn  their  play- 
ground. There  is  no  reason  why  even  the  wilder 
creatures  should  be  banished  to  woods  and  plantations, 
when,  if  not  molested  and  encouraged,  they  will  gladly 
take  sanctuary  under  the  protection  of  man.  October 
sees  the  last  of  the  flowers  ;  but  the  pleasure  of  the 
garden  may  be  continued,  in  a  slightly  different  form, 
even  while  the  flowers  sleep.  Trees  are  only  flowers  of 
a  larger  growth,  and  though  the  satisfaction  gained  by 
planting  trees  is  part  of  the  "joy  that  cometh  of  under- 
standing," the  art  of  forestry  is  now  well  understood, 
and  is  not  difficult  to  learn.  A  wood,  properly  planted, 
will  in  thirty  years  be  worth  the  freehold  of  the  land 
on  which  it  stands,  and  no  monument  to  the  ability 
of  a  past  resident  is  more  durable  and  more  honoured 
in  the  memory  of  the  country-side  than  that  left  by 
woods  and  plantations  of  good  and  beautiful  trees. 
Jacob  in  Palestine  dug  a  well,  and  left  it  to  posterity. 


3o8        IS  COUNTRY  LIFE  STILL  POSSIBLE? 

In  England,  he  would  have  planted  an  oak-wood. 
Trees,  plants,  and  animals,  none  of  them  are  to  be 
neglected  if  the  country  life  is  to  be  developed  to  the 
full.  Cobbett,  who,  though  not  a  naturalist,  was  a 
keen  and  practical  observer  of  all  sides  of  rural  life, 
and  probably  took  a  more  comprehensive  purview  of 
the  relation  of  all  he  saw  on  his  rural  rides  to  the 
human  welfare  of  the  country-side  than  any  other  writer 
since  his  time,  surrounded  his  whole  farm  with  a  broad 
belt  of  trees  of  the  newest  and  most  valuable  kinds, 
planting  not  only  oaks  and  ashes,  and  such  English 
trees  as  were  suited  to  the  soil,  but  acacia,  plane,  Italian 
poplar,  hickory,  and  walnut.  The  growth  of  the  acacia 
in  this  country  is  mainly  due  to  Cobbett,  and  many 
cottage  industries,  such  as  straw  and  grass  plaiting, 
which  he  introduced,  have  increased  the  comfort  of 
thousands  of  villages. 

Cobbett,  though  very  sensitive  to  the  beauties  of 
landscape,  was  not  an  observer  of  the  ways  of  animals 
like  Richard  Jefferies.  But  the  habit  of  observation  can 
be  learnt,  when  it  has  not  been  gained  by  early  associ- 
ation, much  more  readily  than  the  love  of  the  beauties 
of  landscape.  It  is  far  more  concrete  and  conscious  than 
the  subtle  suggestions  of  natural  scenery,  though  it  is 
so  mixed  up  in  the  minds  of  countrymen  with  sport 
in  all  its  forms,  that  it  is  often  difficult  to  say  where 
the  liking  for  observation  of  animal  life  ends,  and  its 
use  as  a  means  to  their  destruction  begins.  Perhaps 
the  truest  view  is  that  the  habit  which  begins  in  the 
case  of  animals  which  are  the  objects  of  the  chase,  is 
extended  to  the  case  of  all  others,  though  often  this 


IS   COUNTRY  LIFE  STILL  POSSIBLE1!       309 

process  is  reversed.  To  many  dwellers  in  the  country, 
the  possibility  of  close  and  intimate  acquaintance  with 
the  wild  life  of  the  district  is  one  of  the  most  lasting 
pleasures  which  it  affords.  Much  has  been  written 
and  much  has  been  read  upon  the  subject  ;  but  what 
has  not  been  seen  is  always  new,  and  what  has  once 
been  seen  never  loses  by  being  seen  again.  But  much 
has  never  yet  been  seen  or  understood. 

Our  eyes  are  barely  open  to  the  facts  of  the  flight 
of  birds.  We  know  little  of  the  changes  in  animal 
life  wrought  by  the  sudden  influences  of  wind,  rain, 
cold,  and  heat,  and  next  to  nothing  of  parts  of  the 
life  of  some  of  our  commonest  quadrupeds.  No  doubt 
sport  fills  a  great  place  in  the  life  of  countrymen. 
"  From  February  to  September  I  fish,"  said  one  noted 
sportsman,  "  and  when  it  is  wet  I  make  flies.  From 
September  to  February  I  shoot,  and  when  it  is  wet  I 
make  cartridges."  But  though  sport  does,  and  always 
will,  hold  a  prominent  place  among  country  amuse- 
ments, the  care  of  domestic  animals,  gardening,  planting, 
and  the  observation  of  wild  life  and  scenery,  with  the 
due  ordering  of  a  household,  give  a  guarantee  that  part 
of  the  time  spent  in  the  country  shall  be  both  pleasant 
and  profitable.  But  country  life  has  more  to  offer 
than  this.  To  the  health  and  vigour  of  the  body, 
which  make  the  mind  elastic,  it  adds  another  condition 
without  which  study  and  mental  effort  are  at  a  dis- 
advantage. Real  leisure  and  freedom  from  interruption 
are  nowhere  so  easily  obtained  as  in  the  country.  "  It 
is  a  good  year  for  the  grouse/'  remarked  a  visitor  to 
Sir  Walter  Scott's  old  servant  at  Abbotsford.  "  Yes  ; 


3 io       IS  COUNTRY  LIFE  STILL  POSSIBLE* 

and  a  gude  year  for  our  books"  was  the  reply.  But  in 
the  country  it  is  always  a  "good  year"  for  books, 
whether  for  writing  or  reading  them,  and  Sir  Walter's 
pen  might  never  have  run  with  such  astonishing  ease 
and  quickness  had  he  not  been  supported  by  the  bodily 
and  mental  vigour  gained  by  his  country  life  at  Abbots- 
ford.  Charles  Kingsley  is  another  instance  of  a  good 
and  vigorous  worker  who  did  his  task  the  better  for  his 
country  surroundings.  Yet  even  in  his  active  nature 
the  inroads  upon  his  leisure  made  by  his  parish  and 
pupils  were,  in  the  literary  sense,  a  burden  ;  and  his 
pen  never  showed  such  charm  and  freedom  as  when, 
in  a  brief  holiday,  he  wrote  The  Water-Babies.  So 
long  as  it  has  such  gifts  to  offer,  the  country  can  never 
remain  long  discredited  ;  and  the  reaction  from  town 
and  suburban  life  will  be  all  the  stronger  because  it 
has  been  for  a  time  deferred.  Even  now  there  is  in 
many  minds  a  half-unconscious  repulsion  to  the  sus- 
tained strain  of  modern  life,  which  will  before  long 
find  expression  in  a  new  exodus  to  the  fields  ;  and  in 
others  the  tastes  of  Wordsworth  and  his  followers  have 
never  died.  The  unbought  beauty  of  the  country 
which  so  strongly  influenced  them  is  still  its  main  and 
most  potent  charm,  and  at  the  same  time  we  comfort 
ourselves  with  the  thought  that  country  life,  with  all 
its  beauty  and  repose,  may  be  one  of  vitality  and 
vigour,  and  not  of  "  calm  decay." 


THE    END 


[R.  Clay  &*  Sons,  Ld.,  London  &  Bungay. 


LIST    OF    PUBLICATIONS 


Issued  in  Demy  8vo.      Third  Edition.     Price  12s.  6d. 

LIFE  AT  THE  ZOO 

NOTES    AND    TRADITIONS    OF    THE    REGENT'S    PARK 
GARDENS. 

BY 

C.   J.   CORNISH. 

Illustrated  from  Photographs  by  Gambier  Bolton. 
©pinions  xrf  the 


"  Mr.  Cornish  not  only  knows  his  dumb  friends  in  Regent's  Park  institution 
and  beyond  its  limits  well  enough  to  have  acquired  a  profound  understanding  of 
their  varying  habits  and  peculiarities,  but  he  is  able  to  do  the  humour  of  the 
animal  world  an  amount  of  justice  such  as  it  very  rarely  obtains  ....  In  its 
graver,  as  in  its  lighter  portions,  this  absorbing  work  is  without  a  single  dull  or 
superfluous  line,  and  its  value  is  not  a  little  enhanced  by  the  several  beautiful 
reproductions  of  photographs  by  Mr.  Gambier  Bolton.  Alike  for  young  people 
and  for  children  of  '  a  larger  growth,'  the  pleasure  of  a  visit  to  the  '  Zoo  '  will  be 
enhanced  tenfold  by  a  study  of  Mr.  Cornish's  equally  diverting  and  instructive 
book."  —  World. 

"Mr.  Cornish  is  manifestly  a  keen  lover  of  animals  and  a  close  observer  of 
their  habits  and  humours,  and  he  records  his  observations  in  a  very  attractive 
fashion,  genial  in  tone,  curiously  felicitous  in  description,  and  with  frequent 
touches  of  quiet  humour."  —  Times. 

"He  gives  in  short  compass  the  results  of  long  and  patient  observation, 
and  in  doing  so  displays  to  an  envious  degree  the  faculty  of  critical,  but  easy, 
exposition."  —  Standard. 

'  '  A  charming  series  of  sketches  that  form  a  pleasant  medley  for  the  lover  of 
animals."  —  Saturday  Review. 

"A  more  companionable  book  than  '  Life  at  the  Zoo,'  for  a  visitor  to  the 
great  menagerie,  we  cannot  imagine  ....  Interesting,  thoughtful,  and  teem- 
ing with  acute  and  often  minute  observation,  and  the  sympathy  of  a  true 
naturalist.  "  —  Spectator. 

"The  articles  on  'Animal  Colouring,"  'Patterns  on  Living  Animals,'  'The 
Speech  of  Monkeys,'  '  The  Temper  of  Animals,'  and  many  others  we  might 
also  mention,  show  startling  insight  and  much  originality.  Mr.  Cornish  writes 
well,  and,  if  we  mistake  not,  this  should  place  him  high  in  reputation  amongst 
his  brother  naturalists."  —  Black  and  White. 

"  The  book  is  beautifully  illustrated,  and  one  of  the  pleasantest  introductions 
to  popular  natural  history  we  have  seen  for  some  time."  —  Daily  Telegraph. 

'  '  The  book  gives  an  account  of  the  habits  and  nature  of  the  inmates  of  the 
lordly  prison-house  in  the  Regent's  Park,  and  of  some  of  their  past  or  future 
companions.  It  is  of  absorbing  interest  throughout.  "  —  Daily  News. 


LONDON  :  SEELEY  &  CO.,  LIMITED,  ESSEX  ST.,  STRAND. 


EVENTS   OF  OUR  OWN   TIME. 

A  Series  of  Volumes  on  the  most  Important  Events  of  the  last  Half- 
Century ',  each  containing  300  pages  or  more,  in  large  8vo,  with 
Plans,  Portraits,  or  other  Illustrations t  to  be  issued  at  intervals, 
cloth,  price  $s. 

Large  paper  copies  (250  only}  -with  Proofs  of  the  Plates,  cloth,  los.  6d. 


THE  LIBERATION  OF  ITALY.  By  the  COUNTESS  MARTIN- 
ENGO  CESARESCO.  With  Four  Portraits  on  Copper.  Crown  8vo.  Price 
53.,  cloth. 

THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRIMEA.  By  General  SIR  EDWARD 
HAMLEY,  K.C.B.  With  Five  Maps  and  Plans,  and  Four  Portraits  on 
Copper.  Fifth  Edition.  Crown  8vo.  Price  55.,  cloth. 

THE  INDIAN  MUTINY  OF  1857.  By  COLONEL  MALLESON, 
C.S.I.  With  Three  Plans,  and  Four  Portraits  on  Copper.  Sixth 
Edition.  Crown  8vo.  Price  55.,  cloth. 

THE  AFGHAN  WARS  OF  1839-1842  AND  1878-80.  By 
ARCHIBALD  FORBES.  With  Five  Maps  and  Plans,  and  Four  Portraits 
on  Copper.  Second  Edition.  Crown  8vo.  Price  55.,  cloth. 

THE   REFOUNDING  OF  THE  GERMAN  EMPIRE.     By 

COLONEL  MALLESON,  C.S.I.     With  Five  Maps  and  Plans,  and  Four 
Portraits  on  Copper.     Crown  8vo.     Price  5s.,  cloth. 

*ACHIEVEMENTS  IN  ENGINEERING  DURING  THE 
LAST  HALF-CENTURY.  By  Professor  VERNON  HARCOURT.  With 
many  Illustrations.  Crown  8vo.  Price  55.,  cloth. 

*THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  NAVIES  DURING  THE  LAST 
HALF-CENTURY.  By  Captain  EARDLEY  WILMOT,  R.N.  With 
Illustrations  and  Plans.  Crown  8vo.  Price  55.,  cloth. 

Of  Volumes  so  *  marked  there  are  no  Large  Paper  Editions. 


LONDON:  SEELEY  &  CO.,  LIMITED,  ESSEX  ST.,  STRAND. 


BY   THE  REV.   A.  J.    CHURCH. 


THE  FALL  OF  ATHENS.  A  Tale  of  the  Peloponnesian  War. 
With  Sixteen  Illustrations.  Large  Crown  8vo.  Price  53.,  cloth. 

STORIES  FROM  THE  GREEK  COMEDIANS.   With  Sixteen 

Coloured  Illustrations.     Price  $s.,  cloth. 

'  The  broad  humour  of  Aristophanes  is  most  effectively  given  in  this  little  book,  and  the 
flashes  of  brilliant  irony  not  less  vividly.' — Spectator. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  ILIAD.  With  Coloured  Illustrations. 
Crown  8vo.  Price  $s.}  cloth. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  ODYSSEY.  With  Coloured  Illustra- 
tions. Crown  8vo.  Price  55.,  cloth. 

'  One  of  the  most  beautiful  pieces  of  prose  in  the  English  language,  as  well  as  one  which 
gives  a  better  notion  of  Homer  than  any  one,  probably,  of  our  many  meritorious  metrical  and 
rhymed  versions. ' — Spectator. 

STORIES    FROM    HOMER.      With    Coloured    Illustrations. 

Twenty-second  Thousand.     Price  5s.,  cloth. 

'A book  which  ought  to  become  an  English  classic.  It  is  full  of  the  pure  Homeric  flavour.' 
—Spectator. 

STORIES    FROM    VIRGIL.      With    Coloured    Illustrations. 

Sixteenth  Thousand.     Price  55.,  cloth. 

'  Superior  to  his  "  Stories  from  Homer,"  good  as  they  were,  and  perhaps  as  perfect  a 
specimen  of  that  peculiar  form  of  translation  as  could  be.'—  Times. 

STORIES  FROM  THE  GREEK  TRAGEDIANS.  With 
Coloured  Illustrations.  Tenth  Thousand.  Price  55.,  cloth. 

•'  Not  only  a  pleasant  and  entertaining  book  for  the  fireside,  but  a  storehouse  of  facts  from 
history  to  be  of  real  service  to  them  when  they  come  to  read  a  Greek  play  for  themselves.' — 
Standard. 

STORIES   OF    THE    EAST   FROM    HERODOTUS.     With 

Coloured  Illustrations.     Ninth  Thousand.     Price  55.,  cloth. 
'  For  a  school  prize  a  more  suitable  book  will  hardly  be  found.' — Literary  Churchman. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  PERSIAN  WAR  FROM  HERO- 
DOTUS. With  Coloured  Illustrations.  Fifth  Thousand.  Price  53., 

cloth. 

'  We  are  inclined  to  think  this  is  the  best  volume  of  Professor  Church's  series  since  the 
excellent  "  Stories  from  Homer."  ' — Athenceum. 

STORIES  FROM  LIVY.  With  Coloured  Illustrations.  Sixth 
Thousand.  Price  55.,  cloth. 

^  '  The  lad  who  gets  this  book  for  a  present  will  have  got  a  genuine  classical  treasure.' — 
Scotsman. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  JERUSALEM 
FROM  JOSEPHUS.  With  Coloured  Illustrations.  Seventh  Thousand. 
Price  35.  6d.,  cloth. 

'  The  execution  of  this  work  has  been  performed  with  that  judiciousness  of  selection  and 
felicity  of  language  which  have  combined  to  raise  Professor  Church  far  above  the  fear  ot 
rivalry. ' — A  cademy. 


LONDON:  SEELEY  &  CO.,  LIMITED,  ESSEX  ST.,   STRAND. 


BY   THE  REV.  A.  J.  CHURCH. 


HEROES    AND    KINGS:    Stories    from    the    Greek.      Sixth 

Thousand.     Price  is.  6d.,  cloth. 
4  This  volume  is  quite  a  little  triumph  of  neatness  and  taste.' — Saturday  Review. 

THE  STORIES  OF  THE  ILIAD  AND  THE  ^ENEID.  With 
Illustrations.  Seventh  Thousand.  Price  is.,  sewed,  or  is.  6d.,  cloth. 

'  The  attractive  and  scholar-like  rendering  of  the  story  cannot  fail,  we  feel  sure,  to  make  it 
a  favourite  at  home  as  well  as  at  school.'— Educational  Times. 

THE  BURNING  OF  ROME  :  A  Story  of  Nero's  Days.     With 

Sixteen  Illustrations.     Price  55.,  cloth. 

'  Is  probably  the  best  of  the  many  excellent  tales  that  Mr.  Church  has  produced.' — 
A  thenceum. 

WITH    THE   KING  AT  OXFORD  :   A   Story  of  the   Great 
Rebellion.     With   Coloured  Illustrations.     Fifth  Thousand.     Price  53., 
cloth. 
'  Excellent  sketches  of  the  times.'—Atkenawm. 

A  YOUNG   MACEDONIAN,  in  the  Army  of  Alexander  the 

Great.     With  Coloured  Illustrations.     Price  5s.,  cloth. 
'The  book  is  full  of  true  classical  romance.' — Spectator. 

THE  COUNT  OF  THE  SAXON  SHORE:  A  Tale  of  the 
Departure  of  the  Romans  from  Britain.  With  Sixteen  Illustrations. 
Third  Thousand.  Price  55.,  cloth. 

'  "The  Count  of  the  Saxon  Shore"  will  be  read  by  multitudes  of  young  readers  for  the 
sake  of  the  story,  which  abounds  in  moving  adventures  ;  older  readers  will  value  it  for  its 
accurate  pictures  of  the  last  days  of  Roman  Britain.' — Spectator. 

THE  HAMMER  :  A  Story  of  the  Maccabean  Times.  By  Rev. 
A.  J.  CHURCH  and  RICHMOND  SEELEY.  With  Illustrations.  Second 
Edition.  Price  55.,  cloth. 

'  Mr.  Alfred  Church  and  Mr.  Richmond  Seeley  have  joined  their  forces  in  producing  a 
vivid  picture  of  Jewish  life  and  character.'— Guardian. 

THE  GREEK  GULLIVER.  Stories  from  Lucian.  With 
Illustrations.  New  Edition.  Price  is.  6d.,  cloth,  is.,  sewed. 

'  Every  lover  of  literature  must  be  pleased  to  have  Lucian's  good-natured  mockery  and 
reckless  fancy  in  such  an  admirable  English  dress.' — Saturday  Review. 

ROMAN  LIFE  IN  THE  DAYS  OF  CICERO.     With  Coloured 

Illustrations.     Sixth  Thousand.     Price  55.,  cloth. 
'The  best  prize  book  of  the  season.'— Journal  of  Education. 

THE  CHANTRY  PRIEST  OF  BARNET  :  A  Tale  of  the  Two 
Roses.  With  Coloured  Illustrations.  Fifth  Thousand.  Price  55.,  cloth. 

'  This  is  likely  to  be  a  very  useful  book,  as  it  is  certainly  very  interesting  and  well  got  up.' 
— Saturday  Review. 

TO  THE  LIONS :  A  Tale  of  the  Early  Christians.  With 
Coloured  Illustrations.  Fourth  Thousand.  Price  35.  6d.,  cloth. 


LONDON  :  SEELEY  &  CO.,  LIMITED,  ESSEX  ST.,  STRAND. 


EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY  WRITERS. 


SIR  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS  AND  THE  ROYAL  ACADEMY. 

By  CLAUDE  PHILLIPS.  With  Nine  Plates  after  the  Artist's  Pictures.  Price 
7s.  6d.,  cloth  ;  large  paper  copies  (150  only),  2 is. 

'  Air.  Phillips  writes  with  knowledge,  insight,  and  original  inspiration — full  of  accurate 
information  and  sound  criticism.' — Times. 

DEAN  SWIFT  :  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS.  By  GERALD  MORI- 
ARTY,  Balliol  College,  Oxford.  With  Nine  Portraits,  after  LELY,  KNEL- 
LER,  etc.  75.  6d.  ;  large  paper  copies  (150  only),  2 is. 

'  Mr.  Moriarty  is  to  be  heartily  congratulated  upon  having  produced  an  extremely  sound 
and  satisfactory  little  book.' — National  Observer. 

HORACE  WALPOLE  AND  HIS  WORLD.  Select  Passages 
from  his  Letters.  With  Eight  Copper-plates,  after  Sir  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS 
and  THOMAS  LAWRENCE.  Second  Edition.  Crown  8vo.  75.  6d., 
cloth. 

'  A  compact  representative  selection,  with  just  enough  connecting  text  to  make  it  read  con- 
secutively, with  a  pleasantly-written  introduction.' — Atheneeum. 

FANNY  BURNEY  AND  HER  FRIENDS.  Select  Passages 
from  her  Diary.  Edited  by  L.  B.  SEELEY,  M.A.,  late  Fellow  of  Trinity 
College,  Cambridge.  With  Nine  Portraits  on  Copper,  after  REYNOLDS, 
GAINSBOROUGH,  COPLEY,  and  WEST.  Third  Edition.  75.  6d.,  cloth. 

'  The  charm  of  the  volume  is  heightened  by  nine  illustrations  of  some  of  the  master-pieces 
of  English  art,  and  it  would  not  be  possible  to  find  a  more  captivating  present  for  any  one 
beginning  to  appreciate  the  characters  of  the  last  century.' — Academy. 

MRS.  THRALE,  AFTERWARDS  MRS.  PIOZZI.     By  L.  B. 

SEELEY,  M.A.,  late  Fellow  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  With  Nine 
Portraits  on  Copper,  after  HOGARTH,  REYNOLDS,  ZOFFANY,  and  others. 
7s.  6d.,  cloth. 

'  This  sketch  is  better  worth  having  than  the  autobiography,  for  it  is  infinitely  the  more 
complete  and  satisfying.' — Globe. 

LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.  By  ARTHUR  R. 
ROPES,  M.A.,  sometime  Fellow  of  King's  College,  Cambridge.  With 
Nine  Portraits,  after  Sir  GODFREY  KNELLER,  etc.  75.  6d. ;  large  paper 
copies  (150  only),  net  2 is. 

'  Embellished  as  it  is  with  a  number  of  excellent  plates,  we  cannot  imagine  a  more  welcome 
or  delightful  present.' — National  Observer. 


LONDON :  SEELEY  &  CO.,  LIMITED,  ESSEX  ST.,  STRAND. 


POPULAR  SCIENCE 


RADIANT  SUNS.  A  Sequel  to  '  Sun,  Moon,  and  Stars/ 
By  A.  GIBERNE.  With  Illustrations.  Crown  8vo,  cloth. 
Price  5-r. 

SUN,  MOON,  AND  STARS.  A  Book  on  Astronomy 
for  Beginners.  By  A.  GIBERNE.  With  Illustrations.  Twenty- 
first  Thousand.  Crown  8vo,  cloth.  Price  5-r. 

"One  of  the  most  fascinating  books  about  astronomy  ever  written." — Yorkshire 
Post. 

THE   WORLD'S    FOUNDATIONS:    Geology   for   Be- 
ginners.    By  A.  GIBERNE.    With  Illustrations.    Sixth  Thousand. 
Crown  8vo,  cloth.     Price  $s. 
"  The  exposition  is  clear,  the  style  simple  and  attractive." — Spectator. 

THE  OCEAN  OF  AIR.  Meteorology  for  Beginners. 
By  A.  GIBERNE.  With  Illustrations.  Fifth  Thousand.  Crown 
8vo,  cloth.  Price  5^. 

"  Miss  Giberne  can  be  accurate  without  being  formidable,  and  unites  a  keen  sense 
of  the  difficulties  of  beginners  to  a  full  comprehension  of  the  matter  in  hand." — 

Saturday  Review. 

AMONG  THE  STARS  ;  or,  Wonderful  Things  in  the 
Sky.  By  A.  GIBERNE.  With  Illustrations.  Seventh  Thousand. 
Price  5-r. 

"  We  may  safely  predict  that  if  it  does  not  find  the  reader  with  a  taste  for  astronomy 
it  will  leave  him  with  one." — Knowledge. 

THE  GREAT  WORLD'S  FARM.  How  Nature  grows 
her  Crops.  By  SELINA  GAVE.  With  a  Preface  by  Prof.  Boulger, 
and  Sixteen  Illustrations.  Crown  8vo,  cloth.  Price  5^. 

"  A  fascinating  book  of  popular  science." — Times. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  HILLS :  A  Popular  Account  of 
the  Mountains  and  How  they  were  Made.     By  the  Rev.  H.  N. 
HUTCKINSON.     With  Sixteen  Illustrations.     Price  5-f. 
"  Charmingly  written,  and  beautifully  illustrated."—  Yorkshire  Post. 


LONDON  :  SEELEY  &  CO.,  LIMITED,  ESSEX  ST.,  STRAND. 


FAMOUS    SCENERY 


THE  RIVERS  OF  DEVON.  From  Source  to  Sea.  By 
JOHN  LL.  WARDEN  PAGE.  With  Map,  4  Etchings,  and  16 
other  Illustrations.  Crown  8vo,  cloth.  Price  Js.  6d. 

"  The  book  is  a  capital  one  to  read  as  a  preparation  for  a  tour  in  Devon,  or  to- 
take  as  a  companion  on  the  way." — Scotsman. 

AN  EXPLORATION  OF  DARTMOOR.  By  J.  LL.  W. 
PAGE.  With  Map,  Etchings,  and  other  Illustrations.  Third 
Edition.  Crown  8vo,  cloth.  Price  7-y.  6d. 

"  Mr.  Page  is  an  admirable  guide.  He  takes  his  readers  up  hill  and  down  dale, 
leaving  no  corner  of  Dartmoor  unexplored.  An  enthusiastic  lover  of  its  rough 
beauties,  he  infuses  his  book  and  friends  with  something  of  his  spirited  energy." — 
Morning  Post. 

AN   EXPLORATION   OF   EXMOOR.     By  J.    LL.    W. 

PAGE.      With  Map,   Etchings,    and  other  Illustrations.      Third 
Edition.     Crown  8vo,  cloth.     Price  Js.  6d. 

"  Mr.  Page  has  evidently  got  up  his  subject  with  the  care  that  comes  of  affection, 
and  the  result  is  that  he  has  produced  a  book  full  of  pleasant  reading." — Graphic. 

THE  PEAK  OF  DERBYSHIRE.  By  JOHN  LEYLAND. 
With  Map,  Etchings,  and  other  Illustrations  by  HERBERT 
RAILTON  and  ALFRED  DAWSON.  Crown  8vo,  cloth.  Price  7-r.  6d. ; 
Roxburghe,  12s.  6d. 

"  Altogether,  Mr.  Leyland  has  produced  a  delightful  book  on  a  delightful  subject, 
and  it  is  impossible  to  lay  it  down  without  regret." — Saturday  Review. 

THE  YORKSHIRE  COAST  AND  THE  CLEVELAND 
HILLS  AND  DALES.  By  JOHN  LEYLAND.  With  Etchings, 
Map,  and  other  Illustrations  by  ALFRED  DAWSON  and  LANCE- 
LOT SPEED.  Crown  8vo,  cloth.  Price  JS.  6d.  ;  Roxburghe, 
I2s.  6d. 

"  Written  with  judgment,  good  taste,  and  extensive  knowledge." — Spectator. 
"  Unique  in  itself,  '  The  Yorkshire  Coast  '  should  be  in  the  hands  of  every  person 
who  professes  interest  in  the  history  of  Yorkshire." — Yorkshire  Gazette. 


LONDON:  SEELEY  &  CO.,  LIMITED,  ESSEX  ST.,  STRAND. 


PICTURESQUE   PLACES 

A  SERIES  OF  ILLUSTRATED  BOOKS 


THE  BRITISH  SEAS.  By  W.  CLARK  RUSSELL,  and  other 
Writers.  With  Sixty  Illustrations,  after  HENRY  MOORE,  R.A.,  J.  C. 
HOOK,  R.A.,  COLIN  HUNTER,  A.R.A.,  HAMILTON  MACALLUM, 
and  other  Artists.  6.T.,  cloth. 

LANCASHIRE.  Brief  Historical  and  Descriptive  Notes.  By 
LEO  GRINDON.  With  many  Illustrations  by  A.  BRUNET-DEBAINES, 
H.  TOUSSAINT,  R.  KENT  THOMAS,  and  others.  6s.,  cloth. 

PARIS.  In  Past  and  Present  Times.  By  P.  G.  HAMERTON. 
With  many  Illustrations  by  A.  BRUNET-DEBAINES,  H.  TOUSSAINT, 
JACOMB  HOOD,  and  others.  6s.,  cloth. 

THE    RUINED    ABBEYS    OF   YORKSHIRE.      By   W. 

CHAMBERS    LEFROY.      With   many  Illustrations    by  A.    BRUNET- 
DEBAINES  and  H.  TOUSSAINT.     6s.,  cloth. 

OXFORD.  Chapters  by  A.  LANG.  With  many  Illustrations 
by  A.  BRUNET-DEBAINES,  H.  TOUSSAINT,  and  R.  KENT  THOMAS. 
65-.,  cloth. 

CAMBRIDGE.  By  J.  W.  CLARK,  M.A.  With  many  Illustra- 
tions by  A.  BRUNET-DEBAINES  and  H.  TOUSSAINT.  6s.,  cloth. 

WINDSOR.  By  W.  J.  LOFTIE.  Dedicated  by  permission  to 
Her  Majesty  the  Queen.  With  many  Illustrations  by  HERBERT 
RAILTON.  6s. 

STRATFORD-ON-AVON.  In  the  Middle  Ages  and  the 
Time  of  the  Shakespeares.  By  S.  L.  LEE.  With  many  Illustrations 
by  E.  HULL.  6s.,  cloth. 

EDINBURGH.  Picturesque  Notes.  By  ROBERT  Louis 
STEVENSON.  With  many  Illustrations  by  W.  E.  LOCKHART,  R.S.A. 
3-y.  6d.,  cloth  ;  $s.,  Roxburghe. 

CHARING  CROSS  TO  ST.  PAUL'S.  By  JUSTIN  M'CARTHY. 
With  Illustrations  by  JOSEPH  PENNELL.  6s.,  cloth. 


A  few  Copies  of  the  Guinea  Edition  of  some  of  these  volumes, 
containing  the  original  etchings,  can  still  be  had. 


LONDON  :  SEELEY  &  CO.,  LIMITED,  ESSEX  ST.,  STRAND. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

BIOLOGY  LIBRARY 

TEL  NO.  642-2531 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


FEB  111372 


MAR  a  8  1372     1 


LD  21A-15m-2,'69 
(J6057slO)476— A-32 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


